Reflections
by Michelle Knight 1188
Summary: After saving Dean from Hell, Sam struggles to explore and control his new abilities while keeping them mostly secret from his brother. When a hunt turns ugly, can Dean figure out how to get Sam back? Sequel to my NRFTW.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: ****This story is set after my other fic "No Rest for the Wicked." If you haven't read that and don't want to, you can still read this! There are just three little things that happened in NRFTW that you should know:**

**1. Sam saved Dean from Hell—that whole nightmare is over.  
****2. Sam is powerful now because he accepted his powers, and all the demons (except Ruby) are in Hell because he sent them there.  
****3. Ruby—while as sarcastic and annoying as ever—has proved herself to be an ally of the brothers.**

**Enjoy!**

Dean Winchester let out a sigh and sank down onto his hotel bed. The old mattress springs squeaked and groaned underneath him as he kicked his boots off and lied down, resting his head against a pillow. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the pounding headache that had built to a crescendo over the past hour and a half.

The room was completely silent—just the way he wanted it. Sam had left a few minutes ago to pick up dinner—after practically shoving some Tylenol down his throat and ordering him to take a nap.

Dean sighed again and rolled onto his side. "Damn it…" he muttered. The headache definitely wasn't going away.

"You should have taken the pills sooner." A voice said, amused.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he jolted into a sitting position, his gun pointed in the direction of the voice.

Ruby raised an eyebrow at him from where she was sitting in chair a few feet away. "Is that really necessary?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You—you—damn it, Ruby!" he scowled, lowering the gun. "How did you get in here?"

Ruby shrugged. "The door was open…and to be fair, I did knock first."

"Yeah, well, you can leave now. I'll tell Sam you said hello."

Ruby didn't move. "I found a job that you might be interested in."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Since when do we need you to find us anything?"

"Bobby always calls to alert you and Sam to situations of the supernatural nature…why can't I?"

"Well sweetheart, Bobby's…well…_Bobby_. And you aren't him."

Ruby laughed. "Very well spotted, Dean. You _are_ a genius."

Dean let out a groan. "Just leave before I accidently shoot you."

"No." Ruby said firmly. "I'm not leaving. I know perfectly well that you and Sam aren't on a case right now, and there's a situation in Pennsylvania that I think is right up your alley."

"What part of _no_ don't you understand?" Dean muttered.

She ignored him. "People have been disappearing—"

"They always do." Dean interrupted.

"—and there is no known cause or reason for the disappearances."

"So that makes you think the issue is supernatural?" Dean demanded skeptically. "It's probably just some psychotic madman hacking people up with a chainsaw and then hiding all the pieces in his basement so that he can eat them." He paused when he saw Ruby's amused look, "Or something like that, I don't know." He finished tensely. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to take a nap."

"It's supernatural." Ruby protested.

"How do you know?" Dean pressed. "What makes you so sure?"

Ruby sighed angrily and bit her lip. "Because…" she began, talking slowly as though every word was painful to say, "I already checked it out…and I couldn't find any cause for the disappearances either. People kept disappearing, even while I was there."

"So what, you want _us_ to help _you_ out?" Dean said incredulously. "You can't seriously believe that we'd—"

"Sam already told me that you'd do it." Ruby cut in. "I talked to him when he left the room a little while ago."

Dean scowled. "Oh. Great. _Fantastic._ Then why exactly are you bothering to ask me at all?"

Ruby shrugged. "Sam told me to talk it out with you."

Dean let himself fall back against the mattress again. "_What the hell_…does he want us to bond or something?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." A small grin formed on her face. "How's your headache?"

Dean propped himself up on his elbows and glared at her. "It got worse the moment you stepped through the door."

"Fantastic." She said.

"I'm glad we had this talk." Dean replied, "Next time I'll just shoot you."

Ruby stood up. "Looking forward to it."

"Bye, Ruby."

"Nighty-night, Dean." She walked out, slamming the door extra hard behind her.

Dean shut his eyes and groaned. "Sammy…you're soo gonna get it…"

**Meanwhile, in Pennsylvania—**

"—so anyway I told him, I _says_, 'there's no way Mark would ever settle down with Betty.' You remember Betty, right son?" Frank Morgan demanded, leaning back in his chair. He peered through his spectacles at the man sitting across the table.

Jerry stared down at the newspaper he was reading, oblivious to his father's question.

"Jerry?" Frank prompted loudly.

Jerry's eyes snapped up and met his father's gaze. "Uh…sure, Pop." He said he said hurriedly, trying to remember what the question had been. "Betty? You mean that dark haired woman that Mark was always proposing to?"

Frank snorted. "Dark haired? She was a blonde, Jer. Platinum blond, with the bluest eyes I dang ever set eyes on."

"Yeah." Jerry said disinterestedly, looking back down at his newspaper. "She was real pretty, Pop."

"Pretty? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Mhmm…" Jerry muttered, completely engrossed in an article.

Frank continued, oblivious to his son's lack of attention. "I _still_ can't believe he married her…she had that squeaky voice, remember? And everything she cooked tasted like cardboard…" he paused, suddenly deep in thought. "Oh wait, no, no, I'm thinkin' bout _Eloise_. You know, that girl that works over at the diner. Her mother just had a heart attack, you know."

"…oh?" Jerry muttered, absentmindedly filling the silence.

Frank nodded. "Poor old gal…and only fifty-five years old! That's a shame…that's a real shame, that is."

"Mmhhm…" Jerry muttered.

"I've been meaning to drop by sometime and see if her daughter needs anything, but every time I think about it—" He paused suddenly, listening.

Jerry glanced up. "What is it?"

Frank chuckled and shook his head. "Oh nothin'—Muffin's just scratching on the front door. I guess I forgot to feed her today." He reached for his cane and slowly stood up.

Jerry smiled slightly, putting aside the paper for a moment. "Do you want me to do it?"

"Nah, you just keep reading that paper." He said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "I'm glad you came to visit, Jer, I don't want you doing anything."

"I don't mind—"

"Hush." Frank scolded lightly, his eyes twinkling. "I may be an old coot, but I can still manage to feed my own cat."

Jerry laughed. "Old? You're not old. What are you now, thirty-five? Thirty-six?"

Frank opened a cupboard and pulled out the bag of cat food. "This may come as a shock, son, but I'm eighty-seven."

"Gosh, really?" Jerry gasped in mock surprise, "I swear you don't look a day over thirty."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Don't make me chase you down and beat you with my cane…" he threatened, his grin widening.

"Wouldn't want that." Jerry said, "I'll just read the paper."

"Good." Frank replied, walking towards the door. "I'll be back in a minute."

One minute passed.

Two minutes…

Three minutes…

Jerry glanced at the door for what felt like the hundredth time. "Pops?" he called out worriedly, hoping for an answer.

Nothing.

Jerry waited twenty more seconds before he stood and walked to the door. He opened it and peered outside. No one was there. It was dark, and the streetlamps shone brightly, reflecting light off of puddles on the sidewalk. It was still raining, and a clap of thunder echoed through the night.

A calico cat poked her little head inside the door and rubbed up against his leg. He looked down at the cat for a moment, and then his gaze shifted to her empty food bowl. His worry spiked. "Pop?" he called out loudly, walking out into the rain. "Where are you?" he paused, the silence making his heart race faster. "_Where are you?_!"

**Thanks for reading, PLEASE REVIEW and let me know what you think so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A few days later, in Grove City, PA—**

"So…you're investigating the disappearances in town?" Officer Tom Lake said skeptically, leaning back in his chair.

Dean nodded and held out his badge. "Dean O'Connal, FBI." He said, studying the man. He knew that Tom Lake was in charge of the Grove City police, and if anyone could give him any information on the disappearances, he could. "My partner Sam Morris is in town as well, he's just off gathering other information at the moment."

The policeman nodded, studying Dean hard as though deciding whether to believe him or not. He shrugged. "Alright then." He said, "It's about time that help arrived, this situation has gotten out of control." He reached into his desk and pulled out a cigar. "Do you smoke?"

"No." Dean replied simply.

"Good for you." The man said, lighting the cigar and taking a quick draft. "You'll live longer."

"Yeah, my goal is to make it to forty." Dean said, only half joking. "Now about the disappearances—"

"I'll tell you all that we know." Officer Lake interrupted.

"That would be great."

The man shrugged and perched his cigar on the corner of his desk. He opened a drawer of the filing cabinet to his right and began rifling through it. "Unfortunately, we really don't know too much." He said, pulling out a single, thin manila envelope. He turned and placed it in front of Dean.

Dean stared down at the file and then looked skeptically up at Tom. "This is it?"

"Sad, isn't it?" the man said, picking back up his cigar. He watched as Dean opened the folder and began looking over the pages. "That file will tell you all about the victims…their names, ages, when they disappeared."

Dean glanced up. "What about suspects?"

Officer Lake sighed. "There are no suspects."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You expect me to believe that?" he demanded. "People have been disappearing for months and you don't have any suspects?"

Tom Lake shook his head. "No."

Dean closed the folder. "What about leads? Have you found anything that might give us a clue as to who's behind this?"

The man looked away. "No, there's nothing…" he trailed off and met Dean's condescending gaze. His eyes flashed angrily. "Look, I know what you're thinking—that I haven't been doing my job."

"Yeah, well—"

"You're wrong!" the man said loudly, pounding a fist down on his desk. "Now you listen to me. Grove City is a small town, alright? I know several of the victims and their families, and I've interviewed them all. I've searched the places they disappeared a million times looking for clues as to what happened. I've tried to find some connection between all the victims so that I could predict who's going to disappear next." He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "And guess what? I've found _nothing_. There are no suspects, there are no clues, and there are no connections. The disappearances are totally random and I have no idea what's behind it all."

Dean stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "We'll figure this out."

The older man sighed. "I hope so…" he muttered. He looked back at Dean. "Do whatever it takes to catch this killer before someone else is taken."

"We'll do our best, sir." Dean promised.

Officer Lake nodded and then motioned toward the door. "Call me if you need anything."

Dean stood up, picked up the folder, and walked out. As he made his way to the Impala he took out his phone and called Sam.

"Find anything?" his brother asked.

Dean sighed. "Ruby was right…this case might be supernatual after all."

**A few hours later, back at their hotel—**

"This is a waste of time." Sam said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "These newspaper articles are extremely vague—all they ever manage to say is that people keep disappearing. I don't think they know anything." He looked over at his brother. "Anything worthwhile in that folder?"

Dean shrugged and stood up, holding some of the papers. "The victims are all different. There are no connections."

Sam's brow furrowed. "How is that possible? There are always connections."

Dean shrugged. "Not this time, apparently. I'm starting to think that maybe that cop was actually right." He held out one paper and began reading. "Frank Morgan, age eighty-seven. His wife has been dead for a year and he has one son age forty-five. He went outside to feed his cat and never came back."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

Dean grinned. "Maybe Fluffy attacked."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Focus, please."

Dean's grin widened and he moved on to the second record. "Evelyn Marx, twenty-five year old college student studying Art. She's had a steady boyfriend for four years and is on the college swim team. She went swimming in the pool and disappeared."

Sam nodded. "Next."

"Annie O'Bryan—only five years old. She lived with her father, mother, and older brother. She disappeared from her bathtub when her mother looked away for one second."

Sam sighed. "Damn…"

"Perry Lucas, a forty year old gym teacher who was never married and doesn't have any kids. He was last seen entering the high school men's locker room and never came out."

Sam shook his head.

"Oh, here's a good one." Dean said, pulling out another paper. "Chloe Richards—a nineteen year old 'exotic dancer.' She lived with her alcoholic, drug abusing mother who didn't report her missing until two weeks after she disappeared and claims that, and I quote, 'a puddle of water swallowed her up.'"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "A puddle of water? Did anyone look into that?"

Dean shrugged. "Sam…she's a drunken alcoholic. Who would believe her?"

"No one." Sam said with a sigh. "We should interview her and see if she was telling the truth."

Dean grinned. "Gonna mind trick her into telling us what happened?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Dean…" he muttered softly.

Dean shrugged and didn't press the issue. "Well, it's too late to go see her now, we can drop by tomorrow morning. I'm going to take a shower."

"Okay." Sam muttered. He watched as his brother walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. His words still echoed painfully in his mind—_Gonna mind trick her into telling us what happened…_

**The next morning—**

Sam stood on the walk outside a small, run down home. Shingles had long ago fallen off the roof, red paint was flaking off the siding, and one of the windows had been cracked and was covered with a large plastic bag.

Dean locked the car and then walked over to Sam. "Well, this is the place—let's get it over with before the house collapses, shall we?" he walked up the stairs onto the porch and knocked loudly on the wooden door.

Sam followed his brother and stood behind him, his hands in his pockets as he waited for the woman to answer the door.

Dean knocked again. "Hello?" he called loudly. He moved to knock again, but suddenly the door was opened from the inside.

A woman peered out at them. "Hello there…can I help you?"

Dean's mouth fell open.

Sam nudged his brother in the ribs with his elbow.

"Ow!" Dean muttered, turning to glare at Sam. He looked back at the woman. "Er…Mrs. Richards?"

"Ms." The woman said. "Not Mrs."

Dean felt himself staring at the woman, not because she was in any way attractive, but because she was freakishly odd. She had long, stringy hair the color of straw highlighted with purple streaks cascading past her shoulders. Her face was pale, and she had tried to accentuate her eyes by putting on enough mascara and eyeliner to accommodate several women. As to her clothes—which could only be described as far too tight—she wore a hot pink tank top, ripped shorts, and fishnet stockings.

The woman noticed Dean staring at her and smiled. "So you like what ya see? Hmm??" She murmured seductively.

Dean's head snapped up. "What? Oh God—"

Sam hurriedly shoved Dean out of the way and flashed his FBI badge at the woman. "Ms. Richards, we're here to ask you a few questions about you daughter, Chloe."

The woman's head tilted to the side. "So you're like secret agents?" she said, still smiling at Dean. She raised one eyebrow at him and bit her lip.

"Something like that. Can we come in?" Sam asked hurriedly.

"Course you can." She said, opening the door wider as she kept her gaze fixed on Dean. "You can stay as long as you want."

Sam walked in first, and was instantly hit with the smell of cats, strong perfume, and alcohol. The room was full of dolls and little angel figurines, which covered every available surface. "What a…lovely place you have here."

"Thank you." She replied, quickly shutting the door as soon as Dean was inside. She moved over to a large cabinet. "Would either of you men like a drink?"

"No, we're fine, thanks." Sam said quickly.

She laughed. "Of course you'll have a drink, don't be silly." she said, pouring three drinks from an old, unmarked bottle. A foul stench instantly filled the air.

Sam glanced over at Dean and found him staring back at him with what could only be described as a death glare. He shrugged.

"Here you go, my dears. Drink up." Ms. Richards said, handing them both a glass.

Sam glanced at the liquid. There was something floating in it. "What _is_ this?" he asked tentatively.

"Oh, just a little homemade remedy I've invented. It works wonders." She said, sitting down in a pink, faded armchair. "Clears my sinuses and everything." She stared at them, waiting.

Sam winced and then took a small sip. It tasted like tar and gasoline, and burned as it slid down his throat. He coughed, feeling his eyes beginning to water. "Nice." He gasped.

Ms. Richards smiled, seemingly satisfied, and motioned for them to sit on the couch.

Dean sat down, still holding his untouched drink in his hand. "So, Ms. Richards—"

"Please. Call me Cindy."

"Cindy." Dean said, gritting his teeth. "How did your daughter disappear?"

The woman shrugged and took a long gulp from her drink. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and sighed appreciatively. "Well," she began, "You see, I don't think you'll believe me."

Sam sat down beside Dean. "Try us." He said, "We see a lot of strange things in our line of work."

The woman's smile widened. "Yes…I suppose you do, don't you?" she said, reaching forward and putting a hand on Dean's knee.

Sam choked back a laugh and cleared his throat instead. "What did you see?"

"It was awful." She replied, sitting back in her chair. "Awful."

There was a long pause. "_What_ was?" Dean finally prompted tensely.

The woman stood up dramatically. "I was outside…getting the mail." She began, "Chloe was standing on the porch, yelling at me."

"Yelling?" Sam interrupted. "Why was she yelling?"

The woman snorted. "How should I know? That girl was always yelling about something or other. She was just like her father, never happy with anything."

"What happened next?" Dean asked.

"It started raining harder." She replied. "So I started to run back to the porch—but I tripped. The mail scattered everywhere and I tried to gather it all up before it got soaked."

"And Chloe helped you?"

"No." the woman said with a bitter laugh. "She just yelled louder and called me a worthless drunk."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Oh."

The woman nodded. "So I stood up and glared at her and told her to go to Hell. Then I left the mail there and went inside."

Sam sat his drink down on a stand. "And then what?"

"Well, Chloe stood there for a moment." She said, "And then she went out in the rain to gather the mail. I was watching her out the window, you see." She explained.

"Sure." Dean said. "What then?"

"And then…and then…" the woman muttered. Her eyes widened and she flung her arms wide, spilling half her drink all over Sam. "She drowned!"

Sam gasped, more from getting the drink dumped on him than from her actual words. He coughed and ran a hand over his face to get some of the burning liquid off.

"Drowned?" Dean said skeptically, ignoring Sam's problem. "In a puddle of rainwater?"

"Yes!" the woman shouted. "Drowned in a puddle! Exactly!"

"Shit…" Sam muttered, feeling as though the liquid was actually burning through his skin.

"Yes, yes it was awful!" the woman continued, thinking that Sam was commenting on what she had said, "One moment she was there, the next—" she paused, and then flung her arm to the side again, splashing Sam for a second time— "She plunged down into the puddle! Just like that! Gone forever!"

Sam choked. "Oh God…" he muttered, looking around in vain for something to wipe the drink off.

"I know—I can't believe it either." She said loudly. "Do you think…" she said hesitantly. "Do you think that because I told her to go to Hell—well—"

"No." Dean said simply. "I don't think you sent your daughter to Hell via a puddle…sorry."

"Oh good." She said, looking genuinely relieved. "I'd feel bad about that."

"Right." Sam said, "That's great. Look, do you happen to have a towel or anything?"

Ms. Richards glanced at him as though she was suddenly seeing him for the first time in minutes. "Oh dear—I'm so sorry! Hold on one moment, I'll go get you one." She stood up and quickly ran out of the room.

Dean turned to look at Sam and grinned. "Having fun, Sammy?"

Sam glared at him and then ran a hand down his wet shirt. "It burns like hell." He muttered. "I swear the stuff is toxic or something."

Dean burst into laughter.

Sam elbowed him away. "Keep laughing—I might tell her that you want to take her out for a drink tonight."

Dean's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me." Sam said dangerously.

Dean quieted down for a moment, but as soon as he glanced over at Sam he started laughing again.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Why do I even…" he paused and shook his head, "…put up with…" he blinked as a searing pain shot through his head. "I…Dean…" he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Dean's laughter stopped abruptly and Sam felt his brother grab onto his arm. "Sam? What is it?"

The pain had reached a peak, and Sam couldn't even answer. He knew his brother was still talking, but all sound had faded away, and then—

**PLEASE REVIEW!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all who have reviewed so far! Enjoy. **

Sam opened his eyes.

He was standing in a bathroom—alone. This had to be a vision…

"Sam!" Someone yelled in another room.

"Dean?" Sam muttered worriedly. He hated when Dean was in his visions…

"Shit!" Dean said loudly. "Sammy!"

Sam blinked, confused. Why was he having a vision of an empty bathroom—and what was going on outside to have Dean so upset? He stepped forward, intending on leaving the room, but before he reached the door he saw his reflection in the mirror.

He froze.

Long stringy hair with purple streaks—overdone eyeliner—

"Come on, Sam, don't do this to me again—" he heard Dean mutter frantically.

Sam's mouth fell open as he suddenly realized what was going on. He wasn't having a vision—he was—somehow—_in_ Ms. Richards.

Before he could fully accept that he felt all of her recent memories resurfacing—drinking, calling her mother for money, drinking, bagging groceries at the local Shop'n'Save, drinking—

"_I hate you! You just drink all the damn time and you don't give a shit about anyone but yourself!" Chloe shouted from the porch, her eyes full of tears._

"_Just go back inside, Chloe. You don't know what you're talking about." She replied, her head spinning from alcohol. She reached the mailbox and pulled out several envelopes—all bills. They weren't going to have enough money this month, she'd have to borrow some again. The rain fell harder, and as she ran back towards the porch she tripped on a loose stone. _

_As she fell her body slid across the sidewalk, scraping skin off her knees. "Damn it…" she muttered, hurriedly gathering up the mail._

_Chloe laughed. "You're so drunk you can't even walk!" she said bitterly. "I hate it here! I hate this house, I hate my job, and I hate you!" she sobbed. "I wish—I wish you were in jail instead of Dad!"_

_She looked up, a wave of rage flooding through her. "Your father is nothing but a cheat and a thieving scoundrel!" she shouted back, standing up unsteadily. "He deserved what he got!"_

_Chloe laughed angrily. "You're the one that told him to rob that store so we could pay the rent! It's your fault he's gone!"_

"_Go to Hell!" she shouted before she could stop herself, and without another word she stomped up the stairs and into the house, slamming the door behind her. _

_She walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Doesn't have a clue…no respect…" she muttered, taking a drink. She walked unsteadily back over to the window, pulling back the curtains a little so she could see outside. _

_Chloe was picking up the mail in the rain, her long blond hair hanging in soaking strands around her face as she cried. As soon as she had gathered everything she stood up. _

_The puddle she was standing in went up to her ankles. She frowned and tried to walk forward, but it was as though her feet were stuck. She suddenly sunk into the puddle up to her waist. _

_She screamed, frantically staring back at the house. "Mom—"_

_She vanished completely into the puddle. _

_Gone. _

_Inside the house, the bottle of whiskey fell from her hand—_

Sam blinked as the memory finished. She had been telling the truth…

Suddenly the door to the bathroom was yanked open. Sam turned slightly and saw Dean standing there, glaring at him.

"I've been yelling for you, damn it! Where's the phone?"

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Where's the damn phone, lady?!" Dean shouted. "Sam's not breathing! I need to call an ambulance and my cell doesn't have service here!"

Sam's mouth fell open. "I—I—"

Dean cursed and walked back into the living room, searching around frantically for a phone.

Sam stepped out of the bathroom and walked up to the body that was lying motionless on the couch—his body. "Shit…" he muttered, and then charged into the kitchen after his brother.

Dean had found a phone and had it held up to his ear.

"Dean." Sam said.

Dean ignored him, listening intently for someone to pick up the phone.

"Dean." Sam said louder.

Dean's eyes shifted to look at him. "What?" he snapped.

"Dean, it's me." Sam said.

Dean shook his head impatiently. "Shut-up, I don't have time for this right now." He said, looking away. "Damn it, why the hell don't they pick up—"

"No, you don't understand." Sam said, stepping closer to him. "Dean—it's me. It's Sam. _I'm_ Sam."

That got his attention. Dean's eyes snapped to his and his brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Sam stared back urgently. "I know this seems impossible, but it's me. I'm Sam, your younger brother by four years. We...we hunt ghosts and demons for a living." He paused and then added, "And I gave you that amulet you're wearing when we were kids one Christmas after Dad didn't show."

Dean's mouth dropped open and then shut quickly. He didn't say 'that's impossible' or 'how did this happen.' They hunted ghosts for a living, everything they did was impossible. Dean did what he usually did—he quickly analyzed the situation and located the biggest problem—Sam. "Well Sammy, this is a whole new freaky issue for us to deal with," he began, "But right now you need to work on getting your ass back in your own body because you're not breathing in there." He demanded, pointing toward the living room with one hand as he hung up the phone with the other.

Sam nodded. "I—I _know that_, Dean." He said, frustrated, "But I don't know what happened, and I have no idea how to get back—"

Dean grabbed onto his arm tightly and dragged him into the living room. "Well, you better damn well figure it out!" he said firmly, "You're enough of a freak already without ending up trapped in the body of a middle aged alcoholic woman for the rest of your life!"

Sam looked down at his body and winced. "Okay, I'll try…" he murmured, and closed his eyes, concentrating. Nothing happened. "Damn it!" he yelled, frustrated.

Dean grabbed onto both his shoulders. "Sam, look at me." He said calmly. "You need to calm down, alright?"

"How can I—"

"You can do this." Dean interrupted. "I know you can do this. Just like how you managed to hover in midair and all that stuff last time. Just calm down and try again."

Sam nodded. He shut his eyes and focused on evening out his breathing. A few seconds went by, and then—

**Fifteen minutes later…**

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" Sam heard the voice, but it sounded muffled and far away.

"Is he waking up?" another voice demanded worriedly, "He's not dead, is he?"

"Sam." Dean's voice again, almost pleading. "Sammy, wake up."

Sam tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt heavy and all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Sammy, _please_. Just open your eyes."

Sensing the underlying worry in Dean's voice, Sam slowly opened his eyes. His brother was sitting on the floor beside him, watching him anxiously.

"He's awake!" Ms. Richards exclaimed loudly from where she was kneeling beside the sofa. "Oh thank God!"

While very few people could have ever felt happy at seeing Ms. Richards pale face, Sam was instantly filled with relief. If she was kneeling beside him, he must have somehow managed to switch back.

"Are you alright?" she muttered anxiously. "You were out an awful long time, I was just telling Dean that you might be brain damaged from lack of oxygen like on all those hospital shows—"

"Why don't you go make Sam some tea?" Dean interrupted, "That would be helpful."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, of course." She stood up. "I'll be right back." She promised as she strode into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

Sam's eyes snapped instantly to Dean, who was staring back at him intently.

"I'm fine." Sam assured him, wincing at how strained his voice sounded. He swallowed hard, trying to put some type of moisture back into his dry throat.

"Sam…" Dean muttered. "You were dead for almost five minutes, I hardly think that's fine."

Sam stared at him. "It was that long?"

"Yes, Sam! It was that long." Dean said loudly. He stood up, running a hand over his face. "Why the hell do you think I was freaking out?"

Sam sat up, his whole body protesting against the movement. He felt so _weak._

Dean sighed, looking down at his brother. "What happened, Sam?" he asked tiredly, sitting beside him on the couch.

Sam shook his head. "I don't…" he trailed off. "I don't _know_, Dean! One moment I was sitting here talking to you, and the next I was standing in the bathroom—inside that woman!" he paused. "Dean—I _possessed _her…just like demons take hosts."

Dean shook his head. "No, that isn't—"

"That's exactly what happened, Dean!" Sam went on. "How else would I have been able to go through her memories?"

Dean blinked. "Wait…you went through her memories?"

Sam winced. "Just recent ones…it was automatic, I didn't mean to." He paused. "She was telling the truth about Chloe—she actually _did_ disappear into a puddle of rainwater."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Ms. Richards arrived right then with a tray laden with a teakettle and little china cups. The kettle was smoking, and the tea gave off a strong odor.

"Here you go, dear." Ms. Richards said proudly, "Good old English tea…" she paused. "With my own added ingredients, of course. To improve the flavor." She lifted the kettle and poured the liquid into one of the cups—it was thick like sludge and looked like ditchwater.

Sam tensed.

Dean stood up. "Well, Ms. Richards, that tea does smell _amazing_, but Sammy here really needs a hospital, he's barely breathing—"

"I think I might be dying." Sam added, slurring his words together convincingly. He coughed loudly.

The woman's lips pursed forward as she studied him. "Oh my, you do look out of sorts."

"Yes." Dean said, grabbing onto Sam's arm and making a show of helping him to his feet. "It's a shame we can't stay for tea, but we have to be going now."

"Do you need me to call an ambulance?" she asked.

"No, no, I wouldn't want to cause you more trouble." Dean said as he 'helped' Sam out the door and into the Impala.

"Feel free to drop by anytime at all!" Ms. Richards encouraged from outside as Dean started the engine. "I'm an amazing cook."

Dean grinned up at her. "If your food is anything like your drinks, I bet people from all over are just _dying_ to try it."

She smiled, oblivious to his sarcasm. "Thank you!"

Dean pressed down the gas pedal and the Impala cruised down the road, leaving Ms. Richards behind.

Sam took a deep breath and leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes in relief.

Dean glanced over at Sam and grinned. "Dude…you _so_ owe me one."

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	4. Chapter 4

It was the middle of the night, pitch black outside and inside the hotel. Dean was asleep, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath barely noticeable even in the silent room.

Sam noticed. The sound of his brother's breathing calmed him, just as it had when he was growing up. Some things never change.

The younger Winchester rubbed his eyes tiredly and stared back down at the files of victims that he had spread out over the table. He was looking for some connection between them, a solid anchor that would help him find them.

Dean rolled over in his bed with a soft sigh. Sam tensed and hurriedly cupped his hand over the beam of his flashlight, waiting for Dean to tell him to get to bed.

Not a word. Dean was still asleep.

Sam sighed in relief and glanced back at the files. The last thing he wanted to do was get back in bed. He couldn't sleep most of the time, and when he did…

His nightmares were worse now than they'd ever been before. Ever since he'd accepted his powers in order to save Dean from his deal, he couldn't close his eyes without seeing horrific images flash through his head in bright, vivid detail.

That had been going on for over two months, and it was getting worse every day. He couldn't sleep, and it was getting to the point where he was afraid to even shut his eyes for a moment. On a good night he might sleep for two or three hours, but sometimes he only slept for one.

He glanced over at Dean's sleeping form and tiredly ran a hand down his face. He was exhausted, but so far he had been able to hide it from his brother. At least…he was _pretty sure_ Dean hadn't noticed. Every morning before dawn, Sam went to the nearest gas station and drank three or four cups of the strongest, blackest coffee they had in order to wake himself up. Then he would order another black coffee for his brother and one of the milky, flavored drinks he used to like and take those back to the hotel.

As far as he knew, Dean just thought he liked to get up early. He hated keeping secrets from his brother, but the nightmares were his problem, not Dean's. Besides, he didn't need to tell Dean everything.

Nightmares weren't the only thing he was hiding…

Sam shook his head and turned back to the files. He had been staring at them for at least an hour, comparing the victims' ages, genders, family…

There were no connections.

They had all disappeared in different places…

He stopped, his finger frozen on the page.

Wait a second…

He hurriedly flipped through the pages.

Evelyn Marx was last seen in a swimming pool…Chloe Richards had been sucked into a puddle…Annie O'Bryan had vanished from her bathtub…

All water. That had to be more than just a coincidence.

Of course, that left Frank Morgan, who had vanished feeding his cat, and Perry Lucas, who had last been seen entering a locker room.

Sam sat back in his chair, thinking furiously, all tiredness forgotten. Had it rained the night the old man had gone outside to feed his cat? That detail hadn't been recorded—the police wouldn't have found that important. It was possible, though. He might have gotten sucked down through a puddle just like Chloe…

But that left the gym teacher. He hadn't been outside when he vanished, he had been inside a locker room…

Sam grinned, realizing the one solution that made sense—showers. There were showers in locker rooms. How had he forgotten?

He looked through the other ten missing persons reports, searching for the same connection—it was there. Some had disappeared from their houses before work—probably when they were showering. Last winter, a few boys had gone sledding and hadn't returned—snow was water. A college student had gone wading in Wolf Creek and hadn't come back. The list went on and on, all connected by one element—

Water.

Sam sat back in his chair and flipped off his flashlight, deep in thought. While figuring the connection out helped, it also complicated everything and offered no solution. He couldn't exactly run out and salt and burn the water…and they still didn't have a culprit.

Sighing, he climbed back into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was only 2:00…it was going to be a long night.

**Later that morning…**

Sam opened the hotel door and walked in, carrying the two cups of coffee he had bought. He took a sip of his and winced—weak, sugary…how had he ever liked this? He eyed Dean's coffee with longing, but he had already had three cups, and that was enough. He sat both cups down on the desk.

Dean was in the shower.

Sam gritted his teeth, remembering what he had found out last night. Enough people had disappeared from a shower for him to be rightfully worried. He didn't want Dean to end up the next victim.

But what was he supposed to do? Ban his brother from showering? Sam grinned a little at the thought. No, that wasn't happening.

He turned on the television instead, keeping the volume down low so that if anything happened he would hear it.

Five minutes later, Dean walked out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go. He picked up his coffee from off the table and took a swig. "Shower's all yours." He declared.

Sam glanced at the bathroom. "Yeah." He said.

Dean looked down at the papers Sam had spread out over the table. "I see you've been busy."

Sam nodded, waiting a second to see if Dean would reprimand him for working all night, but Dean remained silent. Apparently that was all he had to say. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Dean…" he said, "I found the connection."

Dean's head snapped up. "What?"

"Water." Sam said with a shrug, and then proceeded to explain everything he had reasoned out last night.

Dean listened, asking questions occasionally, until Sam was done. "Well…" he said finally, "At least we're on track now…but to be honest this information doesn't actually help."

"I know." Sam agreed, a small smile on his face. "That's what I was thinking. It's not like we can blast the water full of rocksalt and make demands."

Dean rolled his eyes. "We'll figure this out…somehow."

"Yep." Sam said. "Just give me ten minutes to shower and I'll be ready to go."

Dean blinked, making the same connection Sam had earlier. "Sam…"

Sam smiled. He had been expecting this. "Dean…I have to shower."

Dean nodded reluctantly, obviously struggling with his big-brother instincts. "Yeah..."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "If you want I could take a gun in with me. You know, in case the water attacks—"

Dean groaned and shoved his brother toward the bathroom. "Shut-up." He said as Sam laughed, "Go shower. And make it fast, we don't have time for your girly beauty routine today."

Sam grinned and shut the door behind him. He showered quickly, cutting down his time from ten to five minutes. He wanted to be faster, but the warm water really felt good and helped to wake him up. When he finally got out of the bathroom, he found Dean sitting on the bed, watching television.

"Finally…" he muttered, turning it off.

Sam smiled softly, sensing the underlying worry in his brother's voice. "So, where to?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You don't have a plan?"

Sam blinked. "Well…no. I guess we can talk to more of the victims' families."

Dean shook his head. "Oh." He said. "I figured that since you were up all night you would have some semblance of a plan…"

Sam's jaw tightened. _Shit…_ "Dean—"

"Why are you doing this, Sam?"

"Doing what?"

Dean stood up, his mouth set in a firm line. "Hiding things from me." He said, exasperated. "Didn't you think I would figure out that you have been having nightmares every night? That you haven't slept well in months? That, sometimes, you leave the hotel in the middle of the night and don't come back for hours?"

Sam frowned and looked away. "You know about all that?"

"Of course I do! I'm your brother, its second nature for me to know what you're doing." Dean said angrily. "I've known something was wrong since the first time you woke up screaming months ago."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

Dean stepped forward, closing the distance between them so that they were only inches apart. "Because I figured you needed some space after what happened. So for the past two months I have pretended to sleep while you crept noisily out the door every night and crawled back into bed hours later—only to go back out for coffee before it was even friggin' light out!" he exploded angrily. "But you know what, Sam? I thought that at some point you would tell me _why_ you get a kick out of scaring the shit out of me every damn night!"

"It's not your problem!" Sam shouted back, suddenly enraged. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"Damn it, Sam! _Anything_ that has anything to do with you is my problem! Haven't you got that into your thick skull yet?"

"I'm not a kid anymore!" Sam raged. "You don't have to watch my every move!"

"Yes I do!"

"Why? Because Dad ordered you to?"

Dean's face crumpled. "_No_." he hissed, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "Because I have to."

"No you _don't_—"

Dean let out a wordless yell of frustration and pushed Sam back against a wall with one swift motion. He fisted his hands into his shirt, pinning him there.

Sam blinked, staring into his brother's furious face. "Dean?"

"Shut-up and listen to me for once." Dean hissed at him. "You and I—we have spent most of our lives chasing after ghosts, demons, vampires, and all things that go bump in the night, and what exactly has that gotten us? Hmm?"

Sam stared at him, his mouth still hanging open a little in shock. "I…uh…"

"It's gotten us shot at, stabbed, and beat up. Both our parents are dead and half the hunters we know of are dead set on killing you." He hissed. "Most of the numbers we have programmed into our phones belong to dead people, and are only there because we can't bring ourselves to delete them. To top it all off, we've both _died_ multiple times and I very nearly lost my soul and almost spent eternity in Hell."

"But you didn't—"

"Exactly." Dean said with a bitter laugh, "I didn't. The deal is null and void and no longer hanging like a black cloud over our heads, and you—you—" he cut off, frustrated, "You're shutting me out!"

Sam opened his mouth to yell back, to deny it, to tell his brother that that wasn't what was going on…and he stopped. That was exactly what he _had_ been doing. Sam sighed, slumping back against the wall in defeat. "I know." He whispered.

Dean sighed and let his hands fall to his sides, releasing his brother. "Why?" he asked softly, his eyes piercing into Sam's. "Why _now_?"

Sam shook his head and bit his lip so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth. "I…" he trailed off. "It's complicated."

"So _tell me_." Dean pleaded. "Damn it, Sammy, you're the one that always wants to talk about things. Talk to me."

Sam looked at him. "That…that's exactly what I'm afraid to do." He said shakily, and then before Dean could reply he slipped past him. He needed to get away. To get away from his brother's hurt expression, to just _get away_. Dean was closer to the door, so Sam ran the opposite direction, into the bathroom. He slammed the door and locked it with one swift motion, and then slid down the wood onto the floor, his eyes squeezed shut.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the delay! I just moved back in to college and survived band camp (fun times). **

**Enjoy!**

Half an hour later Sam was sitting in the bathtub, staring at the wall. His eyes kept tracing the same damaged section of tile over and over again, but he didn't care. He wanted to leave, to get up and go for a walk to think things through, but he knew that Dean was still waiting for him in the other room.

Dean always waited for him…and that hurt more than anything.

The minutes ticked by slowly, dragging on.

Eventually he heard a soft click as the door lock released, but he didn't look up.

He felt more than saw Dean walk into the room and sit down silently on the floor. He breathed.

A few more minutes went by.

Sam sighed, still staring at the damaged tile. "You picked the lock." He said softly.

Dean didn't say anything.

Sam swallowed hard, still staring straight ahead. Why was it so hard to look at his brother?

"Sam." Dean said. "Don't shut me out."

And that was it. That was all Sam could take. He turned his head and met his brother's intent gaze. "Dean…" he said, and stopped.

"What?" Dean said.

Sam shook his head, dropping his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry." He said.

Dean sighed warily, leaning back against the wall. "I know."

**Two hours later…**

"So…why exactly are we here, again?" Dean asked, staring around the locker room.

Sam shrugged. "Perry Lucas disappeared from here."

"Right. He was the gym teacher, wasn't he?" Dean said, staring around. "Well…all I'm seeing are lockers, showers, and…more lockers."

"It's a locker room, Dean." Sam said tiredly. "What did you expect?"

Dean made a face. "Yeah, well, it stinks like rotten eggs in here, so hurry up and do whatever it is you came here to do."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We're not actually _doing _anything. We're just here to check things out."

"Haven't you ever heard that lightning doesn't strike the same place twice?"

Sam ignored him and walked over to the showers. There were ten of them, five on each wall, and they faced each other. "Maybe we should turn these on…" he said. He moved to turn one of them on but then stopped and glanced back at Dean, thinking.

Dean met his gaze. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "You…you want me to be more open with you, right?" he questioned hesitantly.

Dean nodded, confused. "Well…yes."

Sam nodded and then turned back to the showers. "Don't freak out, okay?" he said simply, and then concentrated. For a moment nothing happened, and then all ten of the showers turned on at once, shooting streams of hot water onto the floor. Sam held his hand out and the water spurted out faster, quickly covering the small enclosed tile area with water. He lowered his hand, and the showers all turned off at once.

Sam turned his attention to the drain in the middle of the floor—none of the water was going down the drain. He turned towards Dean, waiting.

Dean stared past Sam. "The drain must be clogged." he said, understanding dawning on his face. "Poor guy must have taken a shower after his last class, the water didn't go down the drain, and he disappeared just like all the others."

"Yeah." Sam said simply.

"Dude…that's just gross." Dean continued with a grin. "Sucked down into a puddle of sweaty gym water…" he shuddered.

Sam didn't say anything.

Dean's smile faded a little. "Come on, Sammy. What exactly do you want me to say?"

Sam gritted his teeth. "Dean…my powers have been progressing ever since I unlocked them two months ago. I'm basically a demon now." He said. "I can do everything they can—including possessing people, it seems—and my eyes even turn black when I use my powers."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. I've noticed that…but they always go back to normal."

Sam groaned exasperatedly. "I'm a _demon_, Dean."

Dean bit his lip. "No." he said.

"No?" Sam questioned in disbelief.

"You're not a demon, Sam." Dean defended himself. "You just have some…demonic qualities, that's all."

Sam frowned. "Dean…"

"Besides, you can't say…it doesn't make you…" Dean trailed off. "Damn, how can I word this?" he thought for a moment. "Do you remember The Wizard of Oz?" he asked finally.

Sam blinked. "Random much?"

Dean ignored him. "There was a good witch and a bad witch, but they were both witches, right?"

Sam stared at him. "So what?"

"So…you're like the good witch. You know, with the pretty pink dress, magical fairy wand and annoyingly perfect grammar and pronunciation…not the ugly green one."

Sam stared at him, and the corners of his mouth turned upward slightly. "For the last time, Dean—I'm not a girl."

Dean glared at him. "You know what I mean."

Sam nodded, feeling a little better. "So…" he began, a grin creeping across his face, "If I'm some magical pink witch, does that make you a munchkin?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm not that much shorter than you…" he muttered. "You're just freakishly tall."

"You could represent the Lollipop Guild…" Sam goaded him, his smile widening.

"Shut-up." Dean said, punching him lightly in the arm before he walked over to another part of the locker room.

"Dude, it was your twisted analogy." Sam defended himself. "And since when did you even _watch_ the Wizard of Oz?"

**Later that night…**

Sam walked along a trail near the college, his path lit by the lamps that lined the sidewalks. He couldn't sleep again—big surprise there—so he had gone out for a walk around two o'clock like he did every night.

This time, however, he had left a note for Dean that explained where he had gone. He wasn't going to sneak out anymore. In a way, he was glad that he had told Dean some things, but at the same time…

It didn't help. Not really.

Sam walked up onto a small bridge that overlooked a little creek bed. He leaned against the railing and peered down into the dark water, watching it swirl and ripple across the rocks.

He was just _so tired…_

A scream pierced through the night, high and shrill with terror.

Sam's head jerked up. He spun around, looking behind him.

It sounded again, even more terrified than before, and was accompanied by frantic shouting.

Sam darted down the bridge and took off running across the grass as fast as he could. When he rounded the bend he saw two figures. One was standing on the bank, shouting frantically, and the other was waist-deep in the creek.

Sam swore. He reached their position with a couple more strides.

The girl in the water screamed again. Now that Sam was close, he was able to see that she was struggling to pull herself out of the water—water that was only supposed to be a few inches deep. No one paid him any attention, the girl was too busy screaming and the guy on the bank was focused solely on pulling her out.

Sam concentrated for a moment, trying to pull her to safety with his mind, but to his surprise nothing happened. Without wasting a moment, Sam reached over and grabbed onto the girl's arm to help drag her out, careful not to step in the water.

The guy stopped shouting and looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. "Oh—thank God you're here!"

"Get me out!" the girl shrieked, sobbing uncontrollably as she clung to them both. "Get me out! Get me out!"

Sam felt her fingernails digging deep into his arm, drawing blood. He pulled harder, but to his dismay he felt the girl sink a foot further down into the water.

As he moved to readjust his grip on her arm he looked down for a fraction of a second and realized that he was standing in the creek. Before he could move she was sucked from his grip and disappeared completely. The sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and he stepped further out onto the water.

He moved to step back—but it was as though his feet were glued to the ground.

"_Shit!_" Sam gasped, both at losing the girl and his own predicament.

The other guy was staring at the place where the girl had disappeared. "Katie!" he shrieked, "Katie! No!" he turned to Sam, his eyes wild, "What the hell happened to her?! Where'd she go?!"

"We'll get her back, alright?" Sam told him, trying to remain calm. He quickly reached into his pocket for his cell phone, but it wasn't there. "Damn it!" He said.

"What?" the guy stammered back, running a hand through his hair. "What are you—" His eyes suddenly dropped down and noticed that Sam was now knee deep in the water. "Oh…oh God…" he gasped. "You too? It's got you too?"

"Don't panic, everything's going to be fine!" Sam shouted at him, looking around to see where he might have dropped his phone. It was nowhere in sight. The guy moved to help him out, but before he could even touch him Sam sank down to his chest in the water.

Sam kicked his feet frantically, but they felt as heavy as lead. He wasn't going to get out of this. He looked back up at the guy. "Listen up, I don't have long." He said hurriedly, "_Stay out of the water_ and find my phone. I dropped it when I ran over here from the bridge. I need you to call my brother, his name is Dean Winchester. Tell him _everything_ that just happened. He's in town and he'll be able to hel—"

Silence.

The water closed over Sam's head without so much as a ripple, leaving the frantic college student alone with no explanation as to what had just happened.

Luke Ellis stared at the water, shaking uncontrollably from fear. This was impossible…it didn't make any sense…

He took off running across the grass, thinking only of reaching the safety of his dorm. He wanted nothing to do with what had just happened, nothing—

Something cracked under his left foot, and he paused mid-stride, staring back.

It was a cell phone.

Everything inside him screamed for him to leave, to get back to safety, to forget this ever happened. But…what about Katie?

He sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment. This wasn't something he could run away from. He needed to get Katie back, and to do that he needed help.

Luke picked up the phone and quickly located the contacts page. The man obviously didn't have many friends…there were only about ten names on the entire list.

He found the name he was looking for and pressed the call button.

The phone only rang three times before a tired voice answered. _"Sam? What is it?"_

Luke swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of what he was supposed to say.

_"Sam?" _the voice asked louder, obviously worried.

He cleared his throat. "Uh…is this Dean?"

There was a brief pause and then the voice responded, darker and a hundred times more alert, _"Who the hell is this?" _

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	6. Chapter 6

Dean heard his phone ring on the stand next to his bed, and he opened his eyes sleepily. His gaze instantly focused on Sam's bed—it was empty. He hurriedly picked up the phone. "Sam?" he muttered, trying to keep the worry out of his voice, "What is it?"

There was no answer, but Dean could hear someone breathing on the other end. The silence pounded in his ears. "Sam?" he said louder, his uncertainty turning to fear.

_"Uh…is this Dean?"_

Dean bolted upright in bed, clutching the phone tightly to his ear. "Who the hell is this?" he growled, turning on the lamp next to his bed. A dim light flooded the empty room.

"_My…my name's Luke. Luke Ellis." _The voice said shakily. _"I—"_

"Why the hell do you have my brother's phone?" Dean hissed, his heart racing. "Where's Sam?"

_"Sam? H-he told me to call you. Said you could help." _

Dean's worry was evolving into full fledged panic now. He knew what was coming, but he forced himself to ask anyway. "Where's Sam?"

_"He…he…"_ the voice stuttered. _"There was nothing I could do…the water…" _

Dean leapt up and pulled on the first pair of pants he saw. "Where are you?" he demanded, yanking a shirt over his head as he headed out the door.

_"Down past the football field…right next to the bridge beside the college." _

"Don't move…and stay away from the water." Dean ordered him. "I'll be there." He slammed the phone shut just and turned the key in the ignition, and the Impala roared out of the parking lot.

Three minutes later he pulled up next to the bridge. A lone figure stepped forward hesitantly as he got out of the car. "Are you—"

"Where did it happen?" Dean interrupted him, staring around.

"Um…over here." Luke said. He quickly turned and jogged over to the creek. He pointed at the place. "There. It was there."

Dean knelt beside the creek. Water ran over the rocks with a motion that would have been peaceful if Dean didn't feel like throwing up.

This never should have happened. He should have been there.

He turned to Luke. "What happened?"

Luke swallowed hard. "Well, I…Katie and I…we decided to go for a walk because neither of us could sleep. So we walked down here and were throwing stones in the water, but she accidently stepped in the creek…and…"

"She got stuck, screamed bloody murder, Sam came running, tried to save her, and ended up getting himself sucked in too." Dean guessed, running a hand over his eyes. "Damn it, Sammy…"

"Yeah." Luke said, "That's basically it."

Dean nodded and turned around, walking back to the car.

Luke blinked. "Wait…where are you going?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure yet."

Luke's brow furrowed as he jogged to keep up with Dean's long strides. "But…but Sam said you could help." He protested.

"God I hope so." Dean said simply, almost at the Impala.

"How are we going to get them back?" he pleaded.

"I don't know."

"Where are they?"

"No idea."

"Look, I hope you don't mind me asking, but what the heck is going on here?"

Dean shrugged. "Honestly? I've got no clue."

Luke stopped, his arms crossed. "Do you know _anything_?" he said, exasperated.

"No." Dean admitted angrily, "Not a damn thing." He got in the car.

Luke paused for a moment and then ran around to the passenger side. He opened the door. "Then I'm going with you." He said, ignoring Dean's death glare as he slid into the seat.

Dean blinked. "The hell you are." He growled. "Get out of my car."

"No." Luke said. "I want to help."

"Get. Out." Dean hissed.

"No." he said again. He met Dean's glare and leaned back slightly against the passenger side door. "Please don't hit me." He pleaded.

Dean moaned angrily and turned the key in the ignition. "Listen kid, I'm gonna drop you off at your dorm." He said, "You're going to go to sleep, dream of fairies and unicorns, and forget this ever happened."

"I'm not gay." Luke said hotly, his eyes narrowing in protest.

"Whatever." Dean said loudly. "You have nothing to do with this."

"Yes I do." He said timidly. "Katie got sucked down into a creek…I think I'm involved."

"I'll get your girlfriend back—" Dean began.

"—She's not my girlfriend." Luke said, "We just have Spanish class together."

Dean groaned. "Fine. I'll get your Spanish buddy back. Now get out of my car."

"No."

Dean turned off the car and turned to face him. "Look, I appreciate your attempt at bravery, but you're shaking like a leaf."

"I'm not shaking that badly!" he protested.

"If you come with me, you'll just end up getting killed."

Luke blinked. "By what? Water?"

"_I don't know_." Dean said exasperatedly.

"Then how do you know I'll get killed?" Luke demanded. "You don't seem to know much as it is, I don't think you can magically predict the future either."

Dean gritted his teeth, ignoring the impulse to throttle him. "Have you ever fired a shotgun?"

"Are we going into battle?" Luke asked, bewildered.

"Maybe."

"…against _water_?"

"Oh God, would you just shut up?" Dean shouted. Luke shut his mouth, looking terrified. "We're wasting time, and I need to get Sam back!"

"Then let me help." He pleaded. "I'll be useful."

Dean sighed and turned the key in the ignition.

"So I can help?" Luke asked.

Dean pressed down on the gas, and the Impala rolled down the road.

"Can I—"

"_Yes_." Dean spat. "You can tag along. But I'm warning you, if you make a single mistake I'm going to knock you out and dump you naked on the college property."

"I'll be useful." Luke said quickly.

"Just shut the hell up." Dean muttered, driving towards the hotel.

**Meanwhile…**

Sam opened his eyes. He was standing in the creek—alone. The moon was sitting high in the night sky amongst the stars, and everything looked…

Exactly the same. Except…

Everything was blue. Deep blue, silvery blue, light blue. The trees and sky around him were moving, almost rippling, as though he was suspended in a pool of liquid.

As he watched, light seemed to glimmer randomly in places, as though reflecting the moon's silvery beams.

He looked down at himself and breathed a sigh of relief when he found that his skin was still tan, his shirt was still green, and his jeans were still…blue. But they were supposed to be blue.

Hair stood up on the back of his neck, and Sam shivered unconsciously. He looked around, his eyes searching. "Hello?" he called guardedly. "Is anyone there?"

No answer.

He glanced back down at the creek and blinked in surprise. While the world around him was saturated with various shades of blue, the water beneath him was alive with color, and even through the darkness it reflected hints of dark green, brown, and black.

From the other side…

"I fell through…" Sam whispered, realization dawning on him. "I'm in the reflection…"

He stepped out of the creek and onto the grass, listening intently. He couldn't hear anything, and that, in itself, was disconcerting. There were no usual night sounds. No owls. No crickets.

Only silence.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Back in the real world…**

Dean threw his keys down on the rickety wooden table at the hotel, his mind racing. Sam was missing. His little brother was somewhere, by himself, facing some unknown evil without any backup. It was his biggest fear, but not at all a new experience. Sam went missing all the time, and while it was never exactly _fun_ to track him down and drag his ass back, he always had some idea on how to do it.

This time he had nothing.

Luke sat down on one of the beds and watched Dean closely in case he was going to yell. Dean didn't say anything, he just began rifling through a stack of papers on the desk. Luke relaxed, leaning back on the bed. Suddenly, a scrap of paper sitting on the nightstand caught his eye. "Dean?" he said hesitantly.

"What?"

"There's a note…" Luke explained, picking it up.

Dean blinked and then walked toward him. He snatched the scrap of paper from Luke's outstretched hand, immediately recognizing the handwriting as his brother's.

_Dean,__  
__Can't sleep...nightmares. I'm going to go for a walk to try to clear my head, don't expect me back before morning.  
__-Sam_

Dean flipped the note over, hoping for more, but there was nothing else. He crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it to the floor.

"Not important?" Luke asked.

Dean ignored him, thinking.

"You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?" Luke mumbled accusingly.

"Of course." Another voice said, "Stupid's what Winchesters do best."

Dean spun around knife in hand as he lunged toward the intruder. He slammed into her, knocking her backwards into the wall, and kept her pinned, the knife held to her throat.

"Hey Dean." Ruby said brightly. "Nice knife." She looked over at Luke. "Who's the kid?"

Luke had leapt up and was staring openmouthed at them. "What…what…what are you _doing_?!" he shrieked at Dean. "Put the knife down!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "She's a demon." He said, glaring at Ruby, "Where's Sam, Ruby?"

Ruby sighed haughtily. "Nice Dean, _blame me_ for Sam's heroic impulses—"

"Demons aren't real." Luke interrupted, staring at them both.

Ruby smiled at him. "Oh really? Then how can I do…this?" she said, turning her eyes black.

Luke squealed and leapt backwards. "Holy cow!" he shrieked in a high pitched voice. "She—she just—she—did you _see_ that?!" he gasped, looking frantically at Dean.

Dean ignored him and pressed the knife further into Ruby's skin. "Where's Sam?" he demanded coldly.

Ruby shrugged. "How the hell should I know? You're the one that's supposed to babysit him."

"So…she's…she's really a demon?" Luke questioned shakily, still trying to grasp the concept. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly. "Demons exist?"

"You sent us on this hunt!" Dean exploded at Ruby, ignoring Luke. "This is your fault!"

"Hunt for what?" Luke muttered blankly.

"Oh _please._" Ruby scoffed. "You two haven't had a real hunt since you were almost sent to Hell. I figured I was doing you a favor."

"Uh…" Luke muttered, baffled, "Not to interrupt, but do you mean metaphorical hell or the actual fire and brimstone Hell, because it's not logical to be, like, hunting bears and squirrels in Hell. I mean--"

"I was giving Sam time to recuperate and figure out his powers!" Dean shouted angrily. "I didn't just want to shove him into another hunt!"

"Wait…Sam has _powers_?" Luke questioned. "Why didn't anyone think to mention that?"

"Sam's fine." Ruby said. "He doesn't need protected anymore."

"Like hell!" Dean ranted. "He barely sleeps, he doesn't eat, and his powers keep progressing and scaring the shit out of him! Yesterday he possessed some woman—"

"_Possessed?!_" Luke exclaimed, terrified. "That's…that's impossible…" he trailed off. "Wait a second...is this some kind of joke? Am I on Fear Factor or something?" he muttered, looking around hopefully just in case a camera crew was going to jump out and yell surprise.

"Shut up, kid." Ruby growled at him, turning to Dean, "Sam's powers are naturally going to progress, Dean. It's not a big deal."

"I'm his brother, _not_ _you_!" Dean yelled, his knife still held to her throat, "I'll decide whether—"

"Whoa—wait just a…everyone _shut up!"_ Luke shouted at the top of his lungs. Dean and Ruby both turned to look at him, startled. Luke took a deep breath, and stepped forward. "_What_ is going on?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You don't need to know, okay? So just —"

"No! No, I...don't tell me to shut-up again, Dean! I will not just _shut-up_!" Luke shouted angrily, pushing his black rimmed glasses further up his nose. "Now you listen to me, Mr.—Mr.—Mr. Angry Knife Man!" he stammered, "I am a nineteen year old college student and I major in English, okay? English! I can tell you all about sentence structure and where to put a dangling participle, for crying out loud! That's it! I don't know anything about puddles that eat people, and I always thought demons were made up by the Sci-fi channel."

Ruby raised her eyebrows. "Uh…_no_. We were here long before the Sci-fi channel existed, kid."

"Shut it girlie!" He growled, eyes wide from fear, anger, confusion, or a combination of the three. "You may be rediculously hot but I am not in the mood to deal with your manicured nails and snide comments right now!"

Ruby blinked and stared at him. "I'm sorry...do you have _any idea _who you're talking to?"

"Uh..." He frowned, fidgiting with his glasses again. "No. No I don't, and I really, really don't think I want to." he said truthfully. "Look, I admit that I have absolutely no idea what's going on, but _geez_, don't you think that maybe you two _experts _need to go out and try to figure things out instead of arguing and trying to kill each other before…before…I don't know, before _Bigfoot_ leaps through the door and starts disco dancing or something? I honestly wouldn't be surprised at this point…"

Ruby stared at him for a moment. "Are you on medication?" she asked finally, "Should we be worried?"

Luke threw his hands up in the air in aggravation. "This is a nightmare…" he muttered.

Dean frowned. He chewed his lip, thinking. "Yes. It is." He said, and let out a sigh. "But you're right."

Luke's head snapped up. "I am?"

"He is?" Ruby questioned skeptically.

Dean nodded. "We're wasting time here…we need to go out and do something."

"Like what?" Ruby demanded. "We don't know what to do."

"We have to get Sam back." Dean said, turning toward the door. "Let's go for a walk."

"That's your genius plan?" Ruby demanded, following him. "Let's go for a walk? Really?"

Luke stared after him for a moment, biting his lip. He glanced at Ruby and then hurried through the door. "Hey! Wait up!"

Ruby rolled her eyes. "What a suck up…"

**Meanwhile…**

Sam walked away from the creek back toward the bridge. His mind was spinning with a thousand questions, none of which he could answer. Only one thought lodged in his mind—_he needed to get back to Dean._

"Hello?" he called again, "Is anyone there?"

Nothing.

He walked on, over the bridge towards the college. Water rushed over the rocks beneath him without sound, swirling and streaming past him in a rush of bright color. He hurried onward up a stone staircase until he reached the top, and then gazed around himself at the tall buildings that surrounded an open quad of grass.

Bright lights tinged with blue illuminated the darkness, casting an eerie shadow over the dark landscape. A few windows were lit up, and to Sam those windows shone like a beacon of hope. Someone else was here. He took off at a run towards the nearest building, passing a sign as he ran up the stone steps: Mary Anderson Pew—South Hall. It was a girls' dorm.

The front doors were propped open with a brick, allowing him easy access to the dorm. The lobby was empty but well lit, illuminating wood paneled walls and high ceilings. The room to his left was full of elegant couches and paintings and the hard floor underneath him was engraved with some sort of design. He realized that the room would have been quite beautiful—if it didn't look as though it was underwater. As he walked across the floor he once again realized that his feet made no sound as they met the marble floor. He frowned and continued forward towards a spiraling staircase in front of him, assuming that it would lead him to the dorms.

When Sam reached the top of the staircase he was met with his first problem. There were card scanners on both doors on the landing, a security precaution for the students. Sam didn't have a card.

Sighing, Sam reached out toward the door handle, intending on at least testing to see if it was miraculously unlocked—

His hand passed right through it.

"Holy shit!" Sam gasped, withdrawing his hand as though he had been burned.

Wide eyed, he stared at the door, thoughts racing so fast that he didn't hear the footsteps until they were halfway up the stairs.

"I'm _never_ gonna pass the bio test tomorrow." A voice moaned hopelessly, "There's too much material."

Sam spun around quickly, and his eyes widened as they focused on two figures.

Two young women were climbing the staircase, shimmering oddly as they walked. They were both silvery blue and completely transparent, and they seemed to glide smoothly across the floor, weightless.

"You always say that." The second girl responded, her voice echoing strangely, "But you always do well."

"Not this time," the other replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she reached the landing, "This test is covering eight chapters of material…and I only had time to study four."

"That's because you wait until the last minute and then try to cram everything into your head at once, idiot." Her friend replied, fishing through her bag. "Come on…where's my card?"

Sam stared at them in shock, trying to theorize what the hell was going on. He waved a hand in front of their faces, trying to cause some type of response, but their conversation continued as though he wasn't even there.

"Hurry it up, Jen, I want to get at least a couple hours of sleep." She moaned impatiently.

"Oh shut up." She scoffed irritably, still searching. "Ah. Here it is…" she fished it out of her bag and triumphantly held it up. "Finally."

"Do you want a cookie?" her friend asked sarcastically, unimpressed.

She scowled and then scanned her card. It beeped and the light turned green. "Look, I helped you study—the least you could do is be nice. You're hellish to deal with when you're tired."

"Whatever." She groaned, and without another word she pushed past her friend and into the hallway. "Maybe I'll buy you ice cream or something later for putting up with me."

"You bet you will…" she muttered, trudging after her friend.

Sam pressed himself flat against the wall as the second girl passed to avoid knocking into her and then slid inside before the door closed. He leaned back against the wall slightly to get his bearings and let out another cry of surprise when he passed right through it and stumbled back onto the landing. 

"What the hell?" Sam gasped, eyes wide. He was back at the top of the stairs. Mind racing, he took a deep breath and then stepped forward towards the door for the second time—and passed right through it. He was back in the dimly lit hallway, the figures of the two girls disappearing down the bend. "Oh…" he muttered worriedly, "Oh that is _so _not good…"

He began walking down the hall, careful to avoid all walls. Every door was shut. Unsure of what else to do he boldly stepped forward through one of the doors.

The room inside was pitch black, lit only by a dull glow of streetlamps through flimsy curtains. He glanced toward the bunk bed and gritted his teeth.

Two figures were sleeping peacefully in the beds. The girl on the top bunk had her arm hanging haphazardly over the edge and was snoring softly, hair falling across her face. The girl on the bottom had her back toward him, and was so engulfed by blankets that he could barely see the top of her head.

It was enough for him to see that they were both blue, transparent—just like the two ladies in the hallway and every other building, object, and thing he had come across since falling through the creek. It didn't make any sense.

Sam exhaled softly as loud thoughts pounded relentlessly in his mind.

"Come on, Dean…" he muttered. "Help me out here."

His gaze shifted and fell on a full length mirror hanging on an open closet door. There was just enough light to catch a glimpse of the reflection it projected.

Sam froze.

"Oh…my…God…"

**Dun Dun Duunn…**

**Please Review!! :) **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks so much for those who reviewed, reviews always inspire me! **

"There has to be something we're missing." Dean said, frustration lined in his voice as he gazed over the side of the bridge into the flowing water. Light slowly crept across the sky as the sun rose on the horizon.

Ruby shook her head. "Like what?"

"I don't know." He growled. "Some obvious connection that's staring us in the face."

"And that connection is going to be…under the bridge?" Ruby questioned, frustration creeping into her voice as well. "Are the trolls going to speak to you?"

Dean glared at her. "You're not helping."

"Yeah, well, neither are you—"

_Splash_

In one swift motion Dean pulled his shotgun out and they both turned and stared down at the creek bed. Luke stood innocently by the water's edge, bent over as he looked for something. He straightened up with a flat pebble held in his hand and tossed it, watching with satisfaction as it jumped twice on the water before sinking to the bottom.

Dean rolled his eyes and lowered the gun. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Luke looked up at him and huffed. "Why do you always have to swear?"

Dean raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I'll swear when I damn well feel like it." He said simply. "In the meantime, get the hell away from the water before something happens to you."

Luke shrugged and bent down again. "I'm standing on the shore, alright?" he said, looking for another pebble. "Nothing's going to happen. We've been standing here for _hours_." He stood up and tossed another rock into the water. It splashed and then sank to the bottom.

Dean groaned. "Stop it."

Luke made a face. "I'm bored."

"Suck it up and stop acting like a little kid." Dean said pointedly, "You said you wanted to help."

"Yeah, about that, what exactly are we doing? Are we guarding the creek?" Luke pressed.

"Yeah Dean," Ruby interjected, grinning, "What are we doing?"

Dean glared at her. "Ruby, I swear, if you don't shut up—"

"Yeah yeah, you'll kill me. I know." Ruby muttered carelessly. "I just think we could be of better help to Sam if we were actually out doing something—"

The heated argument continued. Luke rolled his eyes and picked up another stone. "And people say _I'm _crazy…" he muttered. "Freaks."

He tossed the stone at the water—

A white, bloated hand reached out and caught the rock before it could even make a splash.

Luke froze. His eyes widened and his breathing quickened as he stared, horrified, as the hand lowered back into the water. "Uh…uh…um…uh…"

"—if we stand here long enough, something is bound to happen!" Dean was shouting.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, _really._"

"And then what, we blast it to a billion little pieces and then Sam will just miraculously appear?"

"Do you have a better plan?!" Dean shouted.

"Uh…uh…I…uh…" Luke muttered incoherently as he stared at the water. He wanted to run away, but fear wouldn't let him move. As he watched, a figured slowly rose from underneath the water—the very top of a head. Eyes—black eyes—snapped open and stared right at him. "Ohhhh myyy Godddd…." He whimpered, his breathing quickening even more.

"—just leave, Ruby! I don't need you here!" Dean shouted, oblivious to what was going on.

"Yes you do, Dean!" Ruby shouted, "You can deny it all you want, but you and Sam need me!"

"Oh give me a break—"

"What, are you going to depend on that wimpy, sorry excuse for a man out there to back you up?" Ruby shouted, pointing angrily at Luke. "He's…he's…" she faltered, staring at Luke.

"He's what?" Dean demanded.

"He's _being_ _attacked_." Ruby exclaimed in disbelief, and without another word she darted down the bridge.

"_What_?" Dean turned to look. "Shit!" he gasped, pulling out his gun.

"_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—" _Luke whimpered, unable to look away from the bloated, decaying figure that was slowly rising from the water and reaching out toward him.

Ruby pushed Luke out of the way seconds before the man could reach him. Before she could do anything else there was a bang as Dean fired his shotgun.

Luke screamed and covered his head with his hands.

The figure let out a yell of anger and disappeared beneath the water with a splash.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled angrily, staring at the place where it had disappeared.

"_Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod—"_

"Hey!" Ruby said loudly. "It's okay now, kid. You're okay."

"_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod—"_

Ruby rolled her eyes and then slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

Luke stopped talking and paused long enough to look at her before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed face down on the rocky ground.

Dean stared at her. "What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded.

Ruby exhaled angrily. "I was trying to knock some sense into him."

"Sense? He's unconscious!"

"Yeah, I know that, Dean." She growled, putting her hands on her hips.

Dean frowned and turned to look at the creek where the figure had disappeared. "Right—well this is just _fantastic._ We need to figure out who that dead guy was and what happened to him."

"The college library should open soon." Ruby suggested.

Dean shook his head. "We don't have time to wait for it to open."

"Oh really? What would you suggest?"

"Breaking and entering."

"Always so subtle." Ruby muttered, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, it works." Dean said shortly, walking over to Luke. "Come on, we have to carry him to the Impala."

"Can't we just toss him in the creek?" Ruby asked, smirking.

**On the other side…**

Sam stared at the mirror, a look of shock and confusion passing across his face.

The face in the mirror smiled back, eyes shining with ill purpose. It was an exact copy of himself, from his clothes to every hair on his head.

Sam took a step back—the figure in the mirror took a step forward. Its smile widened and it reached a hand towards Sam.

The hand stopped for a moment, and then pushed through the smooth surface of the glass, reaching for him.

Sam turned and ran. He darted down the empty corridor, through one of the doors, and down the stairs. His heart pounded in his chest. He needed to get out—or at least find some type of weapon.

Weapon?

Wait…

Sam stopped running. Why was he running? He didn't need a weapon…he _was _a weapon.

He raised a hand to his head as he breathed, trying to calm down and think logically. What had just happened—

Someone screamed.

Sam's head jerked up. The screaming started again, high and shrill. Sam ran outside, his feet thudding on the pavement as he searched for signs of a struggle. Another shriek pierced through the night, and Sam realized that it was coming from a building ahead of him. He ran across the road and up the sidewalk, not even pausing before he threw himself through the door. After passing right through it he looked around frantically. He was in a physical education building. The basketball court was in front of him, and he could distinctly smell chlorine somewhere nearby.

He stood perfectly still, listening intently. At first there was only silence, but then he heard it—someone was sobbing quietly upstairs. Sam ran over to the staircase and took the steps two at a time. The hallway beyond was long and dark, full of windows that showed down into small enclosed rooms. He charged right past them and turned the corner.

A light shone brightly from the room in front of him. He slowed to a walk, breathing hard.

"Sam?" a voice whispered, quivering. "Is that…you?"

Sam cautiously walked inside. The room was small, square. It appeared to be a dance studio, and was lined with full length mirrors on the front wall. A young woman was standing toward the back of the room, tears falling down her cheeks. "Katie?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh thank God!" she gasped, running toward him. "I thought—I thought I was all alone here!"

"Why were you screaming?" he asked, confused. He looked around for someone else hiding in the room.

"I was just so scared." She continued, pressing her face into his shirt. "Where are we, Sam?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond but stopped, a strange feeling passing through him. "Wait…" he muttered, grabbing her arms and drawing her back from him, "How do you know my name?"

Katie blinked. "W-what? What are you talking about?"

"Back at the creek." Sam said loudly, "I never told you my name…I just tried to pull you out of the water. How do you know my name?"

"I—I—" she muttered, clutching his shirt tightly in her fists, "I don't understand what you're asking. What's wrong?"

Something wasn't right. Sam turned, expecting to see someone standing behind him, but instead his gaze fell on the wall of full length mirrors—

About fifteen people were reflected in the mirror, pounding soundlessly on the glass, their mouths shouting words that he couldn't hear. Sam's gaze fell on one girl in particular—Katie. She looked back at him with wide, frightened eyes.

Sam's gaze snapped back to the woman beside him, an exact replica of Katie. Her lip curled with amusement. "Seeing double, Sammy?"

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	9. Chapter 9

**In the library…**

"Right." Ruby said, squeezing in through the window that Dean had managed to open, "We're in. Remember, we only have a couple hours before this place opens, so we have to be fast."

Dean walked away from her without a word, already intent on finding a computer hooked up to the college system. He needed to find out what was going on. To say that he was worried would be the understatement of the century. Sam had been gone for _hours_, and he had no idea where he was or how to get him back. He was terrified. Sam could be hurt somewhere, suffering, drowning, and where was he? At the damn library. Impossible! The insanity of it would have made him laugh if he didn't want to scream at the same time.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Dean...this is a waste of time." She said honestly, following after him. "You know that."

Dean ignored her, his jaw set in a firm line as he headed down a winding staircase to the basement level. Where were the computers? Sam would have known, he usually did the research, after all. He knew libraries inside and out, probably could have taught a class on them. Fear reared up again in his mind as he thought about it. Sam _had _already done the research on this hunt--and he hadn't found _anything_. If Sam, the ultimate resource of all things scholarly and geekish, couldn't find out what they were dealing with, how the _hell _was he supposed to?

"Dean." Ruby said firmly, "Let's just go. There's nothing here that will help Sam. We need to find a new source of information, some angle we haven't explored before." she said. "And...as much as I hate to suggest it...we should probably call Bobby as well. Let him know what's going on."

Dean's frown deepened and he walked faster. "I already called him." he said simply, rounding the bend. "Finally…" he muttered, looking around at all the computers. He pulled the chair out from under the nearest table and winced as wooden chair legs screeched loudly across the tile flooring.

"Dean…" Ruby said again, annoyed that he was ignoring her.

Dean looked up at her, his eyes shooting daggers. "I'm going to find Sam. Are you going to help me or not?" he demanded icily.

Ruby sighed. She stared at Dean for a moment more and then wordlessly walked to a desk and sat down in front of a computer.

Neither spoke.

Ruby brought up the school's database and opened a file--

CRASH—SLAM—THUD

Dean flinched at the resounding noise and looked back. "Ruby?"

"Wasn't me." She said quietly. "Next room." She stood up and got out a knife.

Dean held his gun ready and pressed himself up against the wall, waiting. A shape crept forward slowly, inching along until it crossed the threshold—

Ruby leapt forward, pinning the figure roughly to the wall so that she could get a better look at what she was dealing with—

"No! No wait!" Luke gasped, his eyes wide with horror. "It's me, Luke! Don't kill me!"

Ruby groaned and tossed him sideways to the ground. "You've got to be kidding me."

Dean lowered his gun. "Luke." He growled angrily. "What the hell? That's the second time today that I almost shot you."

Luke readjusted his glasses and peered up at him. "I appreciate that you haven't." He said, looking down at his gun. "I didn't mean to startle you. But…you do realize this is a library, right? No killer books in here…"

"What are you doing here?" Dean demanded angrily.

Luke shrugged, slowly getting to his feet. "I woke up in the car…alone…and figured you might need some help." He paused. "And I was kinda…you know…scaredthatthingmightcomebackandeatmysoul."

Dean rolled his eyes and walked back toward his computer. "We don't need your help."

Luke nodded. "Okay."

"So you can leave."

Luke bit his lip. "But…the monster thing is outside…and you guys have guns."

"I hate to tell you this," Dean said, shoving Luke back into a chair, "But I'm probably ten times more dangerous than that thing out there."

"That's good...right?" Luke asked hopefully.

Dean rolled his eyes and walked back to his chair. "Stay. Put." he ordered firmly. "And don't make any noise unless you're dying." He turned back to his computer and began typing.

Luke opened his mouth. "But...don't you have a laptop? You could research...from..." he shut his mouth, cowering under Dean's gaze.

"Are you dying?" Dean demanded.

"Uh...I...I don't think so."

"Then shut it." Dean said, typing again.

Luke glanced at Ruby. She rolled her eyes and answered, "We need to use these computers because they're connected to the college system. There might be more information on them then on the regular internet."

"Oh. Okay..." he trailed off as Dean shot him another glare. Luke fell silent. He glanced back Ruby. She stared back at him, her eyes narrowed, arms crossed across her chest. He looked away.

A few awkward minutes of silence passed, the only sound the soft clicking of computer keys as Dean hurriedly searched every angle he could think of.

Ruby sighed and shut her eyes. She leaned back against a bench. "Find anything?"

Dean didn't answer.

A few more minutes went by.

Luke bit his lip and twisted awkwardly in his chair. He opened his mouth—shut it. Opened it again—closed. He sighed. "Uh…Dean?"

Dean grunted softly and kept typing.

Luke winced. "Uh…uh…I might…know a little…insignificantly small…part about what's happening."

Dean's fingers stopped typing. He blinked. "What?"

Luke looked away. "Uh…I heard some rumors around campus…"

Dean turned away from his computer so that he could face Luke. "What rumors?"

Luke fiddled with his glasses again. "Well…I don't remember everything." He began. "I was at this bonfire with some of my friends, and some of the girls started…discussing some weird things that they have been seeing around campus."

"Down by the creek?" Dean guessed.

"No." Luke said, "In their mirrors."

**SNSNSN**

Sam took a step back. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The young woman's eyes gleamed. "Why Sam…it's me. It's Katie."

"You're not Katie." Sam said firmly.

**SNSNSN**

"What's going on in the mirrors?" Dean asked, his voice seeming to echo through the halls of the empty library.

Luke swallowed hard. "You know the missing people?"

"What about them?"

"They're in the reflections. I—I don't know how, but somehow they're trapped inside the glass. People have seen them all over campus—"

"Why hasn't anyone reported this?" Dean demanded angrily.

**SNSNSN**

"But I look like Katie." The woman purred. "I talk like Katie…I wear the same clothes as Katie."

"You're not her!" Sam exclaimed, scowling. He pointed toward the front of the room, "Why are those people trapped in that mirror?"

"Always with the questions, Sammy." She murmured. "That's not healthy." She moved her hand from behind her back, a pistol held tightly in her grip.

**SNSNSN**

"What do you mean? Of course no one's reported seeing missing people in mirrors!" Luke scoffed, "This is Grove City, not Sunnydale! People would sign us up for a nice comfy suite at the funny farm if we said something crazy like that!"

"So what?" Dean continued loudly, "At least the truth would be out there, at least Sam and I might have had some idea of what we were dealing with before he got taken—"

"Would you stop shouting? This is a library for cripe's sake." Luke jabbed back, pointing a finger at him. "Besides, I haven't told you everything yet."

**SNSNSN**

Katie fired the gun at point blank range, the barrel practically touching Sam's chest.

Sam flung his arm out, jamming the gun so that the bullet never even left the chamber. Katie glanced up at him in surprise just as a strong force flung her backwards like a doll. She slammed against the mirror wall with a thud, glass shattering beneath her body. Loose shards fell to the wooden floor as Sam mentally held her pressed against the mirror, her arms and legs askew at odd angles.

Sam glanced at those trapped in the mirror, suddenly fearful that he had harmed them. They stared back at him, alarmed but fine. He turned his attention back on the girl. "Who are you?" he demanded.

A slow smile crept across her face. "I already told you—I'm Katie."

"Stop lying to me!" Sam shouted. "_Katie _is _trapped_ in the damn mirror behind you! Now tell me who the hell you are!"

**SNSNSN**

"What else is there?" Ruby asked, staring hard at Luke.

He swallowed hard. "People have seen them."

"In the mirrors?"

"Well, yeah." He said, "But they've also _seen them, _seen them. As in like I see you right now."

"Kid, you better start making sense right now—"

"They've been murdering people." Luke said bluntly. "All over the states. My best friend has been watching the news, taking note of strange murders, hacking into databases, discerning patterns."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Wait—you think the missing people have been murdering people?"

"Yes."

"…But you just said they were trapped in mirrors. How can they travel the country and murder people but still be trapped in mirrors at the college?"

"They are." Luke said. He frowned and shook his head. "Look, I don't understand it any more than you do, but that's what I've heard."

**SNSNSN**

Katie laughed. "So much power…" she murmured, eyes glinting appreciatively at Sam. "You're _perfect_."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Perfect for what?" He was so focused on Katie that he didn't see the hand shoot out of the glass until it wrapped around his wrist. His eyes snapped up—

A life sized image of himself was standing inside the mirror, lips curled into a sneer. One hand was out of the glass, curled tightly around his wrist. Sam shouted in surprise and struggling to free himself.

"Don't bother." His own voice sneered at him from inside the glass.

Sam concentrated, trying to use his abilities to free himself, but nothing happened.

"Can't fight me, Sam." The voice taunted, "I'm just as powerful as you are."

Sam grunted and continued struggling, but suddenly a tingling sensation started crawling up his arm, beginning at the point of contact with his mirror image. Sam winced. His vision spun, darkened. "What…what are you…doing…to me…" he gasped, struggling to clear his head.

It stopped.

Sam opened his eyes. "…oh no…" he moaned, realizing what had happened. He lifted a hand in front of him and rested it against the smooth surface of the glass. He glanced around. All the missing people were standing around him, looking sympathetic, scared.

He glanced out of the mirror, into the dance studio.

The mirror image of himself was free, standing beside Katie. It smiled back at him in triumph. "Sorry, Sam. It's nothing personal."

"Let me out!" Sam ordered.

"No." he answered simply. "I'm afraid you're stuck in there."

Sam pounded his fists angrily on the glass—nothing happened.

"Don't worry," the man went on, smiling, "I'm sure Dean will be thrilled to see me, alive and unhurt, after Katie and I escape from this awful place."

"Stay the hell away from my brother." Sam growled.

"Don't worry, Sammy." He said, "I'll take great care of Dean. And do you know the best part of this is?" he said, smile widening, "He'll never even suspect that something's wrong. He'll think that I'm you."

"No." Sam said, "You're wrong. Dean will suspect something—you're not me. He'll know that."

"But I am you, Sam." He continued, "I'm exactly like you…I look like you, I know all your thoughts, I know all your moves, I have all your _powers_…" he trailed off, leaving the rest to Sam's imagination.

"You're not me." Sam said desperately.

He laughed. "You're right, I'm not. But I promise that I'm going to have great fun pretending to be you." He turned to leave, Katie at his arm. "Oh, and Sam," he said, smiling tauntingly, "Don't go anywhere."

"Damn it!" Sam yelled, pounding the glass as hard as he could with his fists. "Stay away from Dean!"

No answer. The door to the studio slammed behind them.

"Stay away from Dean!" Sam shouted after them, pounding his fist against the glass one final time in anger. It didn't shatter, didn't even crack. He gritted his teeth and ran a hand over his face, mind racing. "Dean…"

**Leave a review and let me know what you're thinking! :) :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey everyone, thanks for the reviews! Sam and Dean are finally back together in this chapter—sort of. Haha, enjoy!**

_Dean raised his eyebrows. "Wait—you think the missing people have been murdering people?" _

_"Yes."_

_"…But you just said they were trapped in mirrors. How can they travel the country and murder people and still be trapped in mirrors at the college?" _

_"They are." Luke said. He frowned and shook his head. "Look, I don't understand it any more than you do, but that's what I've heard."_

**SNSNSN**

Dean's phone rang, interrupting Luke before he could explain further. Dean pulled it out hurriedly and looked at the caller I.D.—_Bobby._

Not Sam.

Dean sighed, angry that he had allowed himself a small second of hope. Of course Sam wouldn't be calling him, his brother was trapped in some demonic underwater freak-show.

He flipped the phone open. "Yeah?"

"F_ind anything yet?_" Bobby asked gruffly.

Dean scowled. "No."

There was a brief pause. "_Well just hang in there and keep searching, alright? I've called some guys that owe me a favor and they're working to find out what's going on." _

"Great." Dean muttered. "The more the merrier."

Bobby sighed. "_Dean…don't do anything stupid." _

"I wasn't going to!" Dean erupted. "Why the hell does everyone keep assuming I'm going to do something drastic?"

There was a longer pause.

"Don't answer that!" Dean scowled. "Look, just hurry up and get here, alright? We have to find Sam, and little miss demon and the college nerd are driving up the damn wall."

_"I should be there in about an hour, maybe less."_

Dean nodded. "Good. See you then." He ended the call and pocketed the phone.

It rang again.

Dean blinked.

"Well, aren't you Mr. Popularity today?" Ruby muttered, leaning back against the wall.

Dean pulled his phone back out and peered suspiciously at the caller i.d. "I don't know this number."

Ruby shrugged. "So? Make new friends—then shoot them in the head if they get annoying. That's my motto."

Luke shook his head. "You're not very pleasant."

"Shut up before I break you in half."

Dean groaned and flipped the phone open. "Hello?" he said, covering his other ear to block out their bickering.

_"Dean?"_

Dean tensed, his eyes widening. "Sam?!"

Ruby and Luke froze and instantly quieted.

_"Yeah, it's me. I—"_

"Where are you? Are you hurt?" Dean asked hurriedly.

_"I'm fine, Dean. I'm at the hotel."_

"Our hotel?"

_"Yeah. Katie's with me."_

Dean sighed in relief and sunk down into a chair. "Thank God…"

_"Where are you?"_

"At the college library."

_"Seriously? Dude…it's 5:00 in the morning." _

"I was in the mood for a good book." Dean said sarcastically. "Look, just stay there. We'll be there in less than five minutes."

_"Okay. See you in a few." _

Dean snapped his phone shut and stood up. He walked right past the others, barely shooting them a glance. "Let's go."

**Three minutes later…**

Dean opened the door to his hotel room, his heart pounding in his chest and he looked around the dimly lit area. His eyes instantly fell on his brother, who was lying stretched out on the bed furthest from the door. "Hey Dean." He said.

Dean stepped into the room, his relief tripling at the sight of his brother. "Sam…you okay?"

Sam grinned softly. "I'm fine." He said, "Not even a scratch."

Dean nodded and looked around. "Where's Katie?"

There was a soft flushing sound from the right.

Sam shrugged. "Bathroom."

Dean nodded, his eyes still focused on his brother. "Sam…"

Sam laughed. "Dude…I'm fine. Really." He looked past him and his eyes shot up. "Ruby? What are you doing here?"

"I keep asking myself the same question." She answered dryly.

Sam grinned. "Have you two been playing nicely together?"

Dean groaned. "Shut up, Bitch."

The bathroom door opened and Katie stepped out. Her hair was a mess and there were dark circles under her eyes, but beyond that she looked perfectly alright. Her eyes scanned the room and instantly focused on Luke. As soon as she saw him her eyes filled with tears as though the façade of bravery she had kept up had just collapsed. Luke rushed over to her side and she buried her face in his shoulder. "_Luke…_" she sobbed. _"Oh God…_"

"It's okay." He murmured softly, rubbing his hand in circles on her back. "Shhh…it's okay now."

Dean looked back at his brother and motioned for him to go outside. They both exited the room and shut the door. "What the hell happened Sam?" he demanded harshly, trying to cover up how worried he had been.

Sam ran a hand over his face tiredly. "I…it's really sketchy, Dean. I can't remember much."

"Just tell me what you do remember."

Sam shrugged and leaned back against the siding. "After I got sucked through the creek I appeared in this forest."

"Katie was there?"

He nodded. "Yeah. She was pretty freaked, but I calmed her down."

"You're always good at that…" Dean muttered.

"Yeah," Sam said with a small grin, "But before I could do anything else this creature showed up—"

"Demon?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I sent all the demons to Hell, remember?"

Dean nodded. "So what was it then?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, but whatever it was was really, really ugly. Beyond that I have no idea."

"Right. So what happened?"

"It attacked us and I killed it."

"How?"

Sam's lips tightened and he looked away. "Well…I…" he trailed off, staring into the distance.

"You used your powers, didn't you?" Dean guessed.

Sam grimaced. "Yeah…I kinda ripped it apart."

Dean shrugged. "Good."

Sam looked up, surprised. "Good?"

"Yeah. Damn good." Dean said simply. "You've got powers…use them. I'd rather you use them and take out the bad guys than hold back and get yourself blown to hell."

Sam smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You better." Dean said, "Because I said so."

Sam smirked. "I don't have to listen to you."

"Yeah you do," Dean said, "Cause I'm the oldest."

"That argument is completely illogical."

"_You're _completely illogical."

Sam grinned. "Whatever. Any chance I can get some sleep? I'm exhausted."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, soon as we kick everyone else out of the room…" he paused, his hand on the doorknob, "Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop taking off on me like that, would ya?" he said softly, "You're gonna give me another heart attack."

Sam winced. "…I didn't mean to."

"I know you didn't…but _jeez_, Sammy. It's like you disappear at least once a month…I've actually considered putting you on a leash."

"Sorry."

Dean shook his head. "Just don't do it again, alright?" he said firmly. "End of discussion."

Sam nodded.

Dean opened the door and walked inside the room. He began talking to Ruby, intent on getting her and Luke to leave as soon as possible.

He didn't see Sam glance over at Katie. He didn't see the triumphant gleam in his eyes or Katie's thin-lipped smirk as she leaned innocently against Luke's shoulder.

No one saw.

In Dean's eyes, everything was fine—but in reality things were about to get much worse.

**Please Review! :) **


	11. Chapter 11

**In the mirror—**

Faces stared back at Sam with deadened eyes. All the missing people…

No one spoke.

Sam felt a shiver travel up his spine. "We have to get out of here." He said determinedly, "I have to warn Dean, there's no telling what that thing can do with my powers—"

"It's no use." An older man said. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "We've all tried to find a way out, but there's no escape."

"There has to be." Sam said desperately.

"There isn't." A woman said softly, her voice low in resignation. "It'll save you a lot of heartache if you just accept that now."

"You don't know that." Katie said shakily, blinking quickly as though to hold back tears of despair. "You—you don't—"

The others shook their heads, staring down at the ground. "There's no hope." The old man said, "We can't get out without help, but no one knows we're here. We're alone."

"Dean will figure it out." Sam said firmly. "My brother will notice that thing isn't me. He'll come looking for me."

The old man sighed and sat back down on the floor. "I'm sorry, kid." He said, "Your brother doesn't have a clue."

**Back in reality…**

Dean stepped out of the hotel room, cell-phone in hand. He dialed a number, held the phone to his ear. "Hey Bobby."

_"Dean, I can't drive any faster. I'll be there as soon as I can."_

Dean smiled at the rough tone in his friend's voice. "I'm amazed you don't have cops from multiple states trailing after you."

_"Yeah, well…I've learned a few tricks over the years."_

Dean grinned. "I bet." He muttered. "Well, I have good news. You can turn around and go home if you want."

_"…what the hell are you talkin' bout, boy?" _

"Sam's fine, Bobby. He's asleep in the hotel room."

There was a pause, then Bobby sighed in relief. _"Thank God."_

"Yeah."

_"How?"_

"There wasn't any soul selling, if that's what you're asking." Dean said dryly. "Sam just managed to get himself out."

_"Is he alright?" _

"He's a bit tired, but he's fine. Not even scratched." Dean sighed and leaned back against the siding. "It's about time that we had some good luck…"

**Two Weeks Later…**

It was just another hunt. Just another day of getting beaten to a pulp by an enraged and completely misguided ghost. Just another routine salt and burn—and Dean was ready to call it quits.

Too bad it was only 5:00 in the morning.

"Hurry it up, would ya Sam?" He yelled angrily, ducking for cover as more furniture pelted in his direction.

"I'm working on it!" Sam growled back, shooting a glare in Dean's direction as he dodged a potted plant. "I have to rip up the floorboards."

"With that little ax?" Dean muttered. "God, we'll be here all day!"

"It's not my fault her sick family had her entombed under their living room floor, Dean!" Sam yelled back, swinging the ax as fast as he could. The boards splintered and broke under the blade.

Dean jumped out of the way as a bookcase careened across the wooden floor. It slammed into the piano with a clash of chords. "Damn it Sam!"

"I'm hurrying!" Sam growled, swinging harder. Too slow. "You're supposed to be distracting her so I can finish this!"

"Distract her?" Dean yelled back, "I already tried what you told me to do—and she's still trying to pelt us to death! What do you want me to do, take off my shirt and dance around?"

"She's a ghost, Dean!"

"So?" he shot back, "Women of all ages love me!"

"She was eighty-five when she died!"

"I guess she'll be wanting a little action then."

Sam let out a frustrated yell and threw the ax down. Before it even hit the floor he held his hand parallel to the ground and concentrated. Seconds later there was a horrifying ripping sound and a large chunk of the antique floorboards ripped up into the air. Sam tossed them to the side and jumped down into the hole without a moments hesitation.

Dean blinked. "Sam!" he moved forward to try to follow his brother but a hoard of flying objects blocked his path. "Sam!"

No answer.

Cursing loudly, Dean shielded his face with his hands and pressed himself up against the wall. The windows exploded inward to his left, showering him with shards of glass. He dropped to his knees, trying to make himself as small of a target as possible.

Someone screamed—

Silence.

Dean took a deep breath and looked up. The furniture dropped harmlessly to the floor with a thud, and papers drifted slowly until they rested on the wooden floor. It was over.

Dean coughed and cleared his throat. "Sam?" he grunted.

No answer.

He stood up and walked toward the hole in the center of the room. "Sam?"

"I'm fine." a voice said flatly.

Dean spun around. His brother was leaning against the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his chest. Dean blinked. "How'd you get out of the hole?"

Sam shrugged. "Powers."

Dean stared at him for a moment more and then nodded. "What did you—"

"I incinerated her corpse." Sam interrupted. "It's done. She won't be coming back."

"Right." Dean said, "So we should—"

"Alert the family that it's finished." Sam interrupted again. "I already did that."

"When?" Dean muttered.

"Just now."

"Oh." Dean said. "Good."

Sam nodded and then turned and walked away.

Dean swallowed hard. He watched his brother leave for a moment and then hurried after him, limping slightly from where the sofa had roughly pinned him to the wall. By the time he got outside Sam was already in the car. Dean sighed and slid into the driver's side. "You in a hurry?"

Sam shrugged but didn't say anything.

Dean shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. The Impala roared to life and he took off down the road.

Silence.

Dean glanced over at Sam. "Something bugging you, princess?" he asked lightly. "You seem awfully quiet."

Sam shook his head. "I'm good." He said.

Dean waited to see if he would say something else, but as the seconds ticked by he realized that was all he was going to get. He frowned.

A few more minutes went by.

Dean groaned loudly and pulled the car off the side of the road.

Sam glanced at him. "Dean…what are you doing?"

Dean sighed. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?"

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What?"

"You heard me." Dean shot back. "You're quiet, moody, and more withdrawn than usual. What's the matter?"

Sam blinked. "You want me to talk about my feelings? Since when?"

"I know, weird, huh?" Dean shot back. "Just consider this a once in a lifetime opportunity and start talking."

"Why?"

"Because I said so." Dean said loudly, frustrated. "You've been off lately, Sam. Something's going on in that ridiculously large head of yours, and I'd like to be kept in the loop if you don't mind."

Sam bit his lip and looked away. After a moment he shook his head. "No."

Dean blinked. Of all the things he had expected Sam to say, that hadn't been one of them. "No? What do you mean no?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

"No _what_?"

"Just…no."

"Damn it, Sam—"

"No." Sam said louder, irritation creeping into his voice. "I said no, Dean. Drop it."

"You sound like a broken record, you know that?" Dean said angrily. "And you can't just tell me no."

"Why the hell not?" Sam demanded.

"Because I'm your brother, that's why!"

"So what?" Sam growled.

"So what—_so what_??" Dean muttered incredulously, shocked. "What the _hell_ Sam!"

Sam glared at him. "You don't want to know, Dean." He said simply, and without another word he opened the door and got out of the car.

Dean blinked and without wasting a second he yanked his door open and charged after his brother. "What do you mean, I don't want to know?" he demanded, glaring up at him. "What don't I want to know?"

"Just drop it, Dean!" Sam growled.

"Just tell me what's wrong, Sam." Dean yelled back, "You have been moody and withdrawn for at least a week now. Why?"

"Since when do you care?" Sam shot back.

Dean's mouth dropped open. "What—"

Sam laughed bitterly and looked him straight in the eye. "You never cared before."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?"

"_Nothing_." Sam said bitterly. "Just forget I ever spoke, alright?"

Dean stared at him blankly. "Dude…PMS much?"

"_Forget it_." Sam spat.

"Forget what?" Dean shot back, "You haven't even told me anything yet, how am I supposed to forget it if I don't know what it is?"

Sam glared at him and then turned and started walking away.

Dean angrily walked over and roughly grabbed his arm. "Damn it, Sam." He shouted, inches away from his brother's face. He took a deep breath and then lowered his voice to its normal level of volume. "What are we arguing about?"

Sam stared back at him. For a moment he looked as though he was about to start throwing punches, but then his face fell and he looked away. "You."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"You're what's wrong."

Dean stared at him, completely confused. "Me? What about me?"

Sam sighed and looked away. "I…" his voice trailed off. "Damn, I don't know how to say this."

"Say what?" Dean demanded.

Sam ran a hand over his face. "Dean…I want to leave."

Dean froze. His throat tightened and his mouth dropped open slightly in shock. "What?" he muttered, hoping that he had heard wrong.

"I'm leaving, Dean." Sam said softly. "To hunt on my own."

Dean stared at him, feeling as though he had been punched. "What?" he said, his mind racing to digest what his brother had just said. "No, Sam. _No_. There's no way I'm going to let you hunt on your own."

"Why not?"

"Why not? It's dangerous, Sam!" Dean said loudly, "You could be killed."

"Dean…" Sam said softly. "My powers have been growing every day…"

"So what?" Dean demanded, wishing that he had never pulled the car over. "That doesn't mean you can't get hurt. We stick together. End of discussion."

Sam sighed. "Dean…my powers protect me. I'm not the one getting hurt. Every time we hunt you get thrown around and sliced up. If I was alone…" he trailed off.

Dean stared at him, the truth suddenly clicking into place like a bullet to the heart. "Wait…you think I'm slowing you down."

Sam bit his lip. "Dean—"

Dean's mouth fell open in disbelief. "God, Sam! Is that really what you think?!"

"It's not…" Sam trailed off. "Dean. Listen to me. You're my brother, and there's nothing that I wouldn't do for you, man. You _know_ that. But…things are different now. I have a unique ability to destroy evil—I have to use it. I _like _using it. I like knowing that I'm able to help people."

"Sam, we've _been _helping people!" Dean exploded angrily, "That's what we do! It's what we've always done!"

Sam sighed. "I'm more powerful than you, Dean. If you stay with me you're just going to get hurt. I'm sorry."

Dean concentrated on breathing. He had never felt quite as hurt in his entire life as he did right then. Punches, stab wounds, hot pokers—anything would have been better than being told he was useless by his own little brother. He laughed bitterly. "I can't believe this." He breathed.

"It's better this way." Sam said.

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "How? How can you say that?"

Sam looked away. "I'm sorry." He said simply. "I have to do this."

"Don't you dare—don't you _dare _say that!" Dean yelled angrily. "You can't just leave me behind again, Sam. I practically _raised _you! I watched out for you for your whole life—hell, I even kept an eye on you when you ran away to Stanford!"

"Dean…"

"I am _sick _of you leaving me behind like excess baggage! Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of it?"

Sam shook his head. "You're taking this all wrong."

Dean laughed angrily. "There isn't a right way to take this, damn it!"

"You can hunt with Bobby." Sam suggested.

Dean glared at him, practically shaking with anger and hurt.

"Dean—"

"No, Sam. Don't. Just—don't."

Sam glanced up, meeting his gaze. "Don't try to find me."

Dean stared back at him, unable to even think of anything to say.

Sam looked away and vanished without another word.

**A few minutes later…**

The doppelganger appeared a few miles away alongside a empty highway. He stood perfectly still for a moment and then smiled, his lips pulling apart into a satisfied sneer. He got out his phone and dialed a number. "Hey Katie, it's me…I did it."

Pause.

"No, Dean didn't suspect anything." He laughed, "You should have seen the look on his face…it was _priceless_. Poor guy was almost too easy to screw with…he's got some _serious _issues."

Pause.

"Good. I'll wait for you. In the meantime…" he trailed off, smile widening, "I think I'll go search out my first victim…"

**Please Review!!**


	12. Chapter 12

Dean stood at the side of the road, his feet planted firmly in the tall green grass as though he was rooted to the spot. His heart pounded deep in his chest as he tried to reason out what had just transpired. It didn't make any sense.

Sam was gone—in the blink of an eye.

_Breathe…_

Big deal, right? So Sam left, it's nothing new. He never fails to come crawling back, apologizing and making hasty promises at face value that he doesn't really intend to keep. The kid's not a loner, he's not a one man show. He always comes back.

But this time…this time was different. It was the real thing. The look in his brother's eyes had been final, determined, unwavering. He wasn't coming back.

_Don't try to find me…_

Dean yanked his phone out of his pocket and pressed Sam's speed-dial number. The line connected, rang, went straight to voicemail.

_Don't try to find me…_

He ended the call and instantly pressed redial. The line connected, rang, and again went straight to voicemail.

"Damn it Sam!" he cursed, gritting his teeth together. He stayed on the line until the voicemail message ended, listening intently for the beep that would allow him to talk to his brother.

_Don't try to find me…_

Dean took a deep breath. "Sam." He said, and stopped, lowering his voice. "Sammy, don't do this. Please. Listen man, we can work this out, okay? Whatever the problem is, we can fix it. I…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry, Sam…for whatever it is I did, but I'm not going to just let you run. Not now. So, you either come back or I'll track your ass, got it?" he sighed, not even caring that his voice had become tense, pleading. "Don't leave now, Sam…we're finally…" he trailed off and shook his head. "Just call me, alright?"

He ended the call. The phone remained in his hand. He stood there silently, waiting, _willing _the phone to ring. Ring, please, just _ring_.

_Please_…

Silence.

Sam never called back.

**SNSNSN**

Five days later, Dean was exhausted. He lay sprawled out on his hotel bed, one arm stretched across the mildewed bedspread as he draped the other across his eyes.

It had been five long days. Five days of searching, five days of false leads, five days of unanswered voicemail messages. He was exhausted. He was angry. When he found Sam (because there was no doubt in his mind that he would) he was going to throttle him and chain him to the Impala.

Kinky? No. Necessary? Hell yeah.

His phone rang, blaring Metallica at him from the nightstand. Dean took his arm off his eyes and groped around in the dark until he found the device. _Bobby._ Dean wearily shut his bloodshot eyes again and held the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

"_Dean…I found him." _

Dean sat straight up in bed, instantly alert. He flipped on the light switch, illuminating his dingy hotel room. "What? Where is he?"

"_He's staying at the Red Roof Inn on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. Room 18. The hunter that spotted him said he'd been there for a day or two already, but if you hurry you might catch him before he moves on." _

Dean was already up and tossing clothes and weapons into his bag. "Okay, I'm leaving."

"_Where are you, anyway?"_

"Couple of hours south. I can make it in forty-five minutes if I hurry."

"_Damn it, Dean. Don't—"_

Dean snapped the phone shut and ran out to his car. "Sorry, Bobby." He muttered, tossing it onto the backseat. "Speed over safety."

Bobby stared at the disconnected phone in his hand and scowled. "Stubborn Winchesters..." He muttered angrily. He paused a moment and then ran out the door to his truck, determination etched on his face. Something big was about to go down and he was going to be there. "Right." He said, putting the truck in gear, "Let's see just how fast you can go."

**SNSNSN**

Dean arrived at the hotel just shy of an hour. He pulled haphazardly into a parking space, eyes already searching for Sam even as he cut the ignition. It was 1:00 a.m., pitch black except for the sporadically placed street lamps jutting out of the sidewalk. Dean stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance, forcing himself not to dash into the lobby at a run. He walked through the front doors, nodded politely to the elderly man sitting at the desk with a newspaper, and made his way into the first hallway. He found Sam's room without any trouble.

Room 18.

Dean stopped, suddenly uncertain of how to proceed. Before he could decide what to do there was a soft click and the door slowly drifted open an inch by itself.

Dean stared. _Weird…_ His fingers automatically circled around the pistol he had tucked into his jeans. "Sam?" he muttered guardedly. "It's me. I'm coming in." He pushed the door open further and slipped inside the dark room.

An overpowering scent slammed into him the second he stepped inside—blood.

Dean flinched. "Sam?" he called louder, worried. "You in here?"

"I told you not to follow me." A voice said coldly.

Dean blenched. "Yeah, well…" he muttered, running his hand over the wall beside him for a light switch. "It's what I do."

"You're gonna regret this, Dean." Sam continued darkly. "Don't turn on the light."

Dean sensed the warning in his brother's voice, and it chilled him to the core. "Why do I smell blood, Sammy? You hurt?"

Sam didn't answer.

Dean felt his fingers slide over a switch on the wall, and without hesitating he flipped it up. Light illuminated the room—and instantly Dean wished he had kept it off.

There was blood _everywhere_. Soaking into the carpet. Dripping down the walls and mirror. Splattered on the ceiling.

Everywhere.

Sam sat cross-legged in the middle of the bloodied bed, gazing at him with a stoic expression on his face.

There wasn't a drop of blood on him.

Dean stared around at the carnage, a horrified expression on his face. "Sam…what?"

Sam tilted his head to the side, studying Dean's reaction. "Shut the door." He said finally, his tone unreadable. "Surely you don't want any of the hotel staff to see this. That would be…unfortunate."

Dean's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "Unfortunate? Sam, I couldn't care less if the Pope _himself_ saw this. What the hell happened?!"

Sam shrugged but didn't answer. "Why did you come after me, Dean?"

Dean slammed the door shut with a bang and strode into the room. "Because I'm your brother, Sam! Of course I came after you! Now tell me what happened!"

"I think you should leave."

Dean stared at him, anger coursing through every pore in his body. He had been angry before, but now…now he was furious. "Sam…" He growled. "What. Happened?"

Sam shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "Damn…you just don't know when to leave well enough alone, do you?"

Dean glared at him. "You _left_, Sam!" He spat. "And then you hid from me! I thought we were done with that shit!"

Sam laughed. "Yeah…you just couldn't take the hint, could you?" he paused for a moment and then pointed toward the bathroom door. "If you're so concerned about what happened, why don't you check in there?"

Dean blinked and shifted his gaze toward the closed door. "What's in there?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, I couldn't exactly leave them lying out _here_…what if the maid came in for cleaning?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam…what are you talking about?"

"Go ahead and look. You'll see." Sam said, pulling his legs out from under him and standing up. "Are you hungry? I ordered pizza earlier, still got a few slices left."

Dean opened his mouth to reply that, in fact, he did _not _want to eat cold pizza in a gory hotel room, but before he could say anything his cell rang, cutting him off. He frowned and looked at the caller i.d.—Luke. Why would Luke be calling him?

"You gonna answer that?" Sam muttered carelessly, taking a big bite out of a piece of pepperoni pizza.

"No." Dean said, shaking his head. He pocketed the phone and then watched with growing unease as Sam took another bite. What was going on?

Sam looked at him quizzically. "Nothing's wrong, Dean. I'm fine, really." He paused and smiled, "And don't throw holy water on me either. I swear it's me. Ask me any question you want, I'll be able to answer it. You found me, bro. Now go ahead and take a peek at the bathroom, I swear it will explain everything."

Dean's eyes flicked around the room again. So much blood…

"Dude…seriously. None of it's mine. Just go check the bathroom." Sam said, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Dean glared at Sam. Something was wrong—really, really wrong. After a few moments of silence he sighed angrily and then walked briskly toward the bathroom door. He flung it open—

Bile rose up unbidden in his throat. He stared, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with disbelief. "Oh..._God_…"

**I know, I know...cliffhangers are evil. **

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	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks to all those who are still reading, and especially to all who have reviewed! You guys really help make my day. Enjoy!**

_Dean's eyes flicked around the room again. So much blood…_

"_Dude…seriously. None of it's mine. Just go check the bathroom." Sam said, shaking him out of his thoughts._

_Dean glared at Sam. Something was wrong—really, really wrong. After a few moments of silence he sighed angrily and then walked briskly toward the bathroom door. He flung it open—_

_Bile rose up unbidden in his throat. He stared, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with disbelief. "Oh...__God__…"_

Sam stared at him dispassionately and shoved the final chunk of pizza into his open mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor as he waited for Dean's reaction.

Dean turned around slowly, pale and horrified.

A smile spread across Sam's face, lighting his eyes up eerily. "You understand now, don't you?"

Dean stared at Sam, eyes never leaving his brother's face. There were three people in the bathroom, their bodies torn apart so badly that he couldn't even make out any discerning features on any of them. "Were they demons?" he asked softly, hoping and praying that his brother would say yes.

"Nope." Sam answered with a smirk, crossing his arms across his chest. "Just some innocent people I found roaming the streets. I had to find some entertainment somehow, you know. I would have just watched some tv, but the stupid thing is broken."

"You're not Sam." Dean said coldly. He pulled out his gun and aimed at the center of Sam's forehead.

Sam laughed. "Cute, Dean. Real cute." He said dismissively. "What are you going to do, shoot me?" he laughed, "Anyhow, as I was saying, I had a little fun playing with them…" he glanced around the bloodied room, "Maybe I got a little carried away…but it's exhilarating, Dean. You have no idea what you're missing."

"You're not Sam."

"So shoot me." Sam suggested, shrugging. "Take Daddy's magical gun and blow my brains out. That'd solve the problem, right?" he grinned and spread his arms wide, "If you're so sure that I'm not Sam, shoot me."

Dean fired.

The bullet shot out of the barrel with a thunderous bang—

And froze in midair, hovering right in front of Sam's face.

Sam's gaze shifted from the bullet to Dean's face. "Holy _shit!_" he exclaimed, truly surprised, "You _fired_! You actually tried to kill me!" He laughed out loud in disbelief, "Damn, bro, I underestimated you…"

"You're not my brother. Where the hell is Sam?" Dean asked, his voice resonating low and firm. "What have you done to him?"

"I am Sam, Dean." He answered softly, his eyes staring at Dean as though wounded. "I'm Sammy."

"Like hell you are!" Dean growled, pointing the gun at him again. "Where's my brother?"

"Just because you can't accept the truth—"

"Damn it, you are NOT SAM!" Dean yelled angrily. "I know my brother, and you aren't him!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "See, _this _is why I ran away from you, Dean! You're so blind that you can't see the truth when it's standing right in front of you. I'M SAM!" without another word he flung his hand out, stopping Dean from squeezing the trigger of his gun for a second time. "Oh no you don't!" Sam growled, and the gun shot out of Dean's grip and landed harmlessly on the carpet on the other side of the room.

Dean felt himself fly backwards forcefully until he slammed against the wall. Breathless and angry, he stared at the man in front of him. "You're not Sam." He spat, fighting to free himself.

"Can you even hear yourself?" Sam spat, "You sound like a broken record, dude. How could I _not _be Sam? There's no way I could be possessed, I've got a pentagram tattooed on my chest!" with that, he pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the unbroken tattoo. "See?"

Dean blinked but didn't miss a beat. "Shapeshifter, then." He said, trying in vain to push himself off the wall. He was trapped.

"Right, Dean. Because a shapeshifter would know everything about our lives. Use your brain, damn it!"

"You can't be Sam." Dean said, but his resolution was wavering.

"Why? Because Sam's just some innocent little kid that eats Lucky Charms and thinks people are all really good deep down? Well I've got some shocking news for you, Dean—I've changed!"

"What have you done to my brother?" Dean demanded angrily, his voice shaking, "If you hurt him I swear I'll kill you—"

"Kill me? You'll kill me?" Sam laughed darkly, "Dean, I've been practically _begging _you to kill me for years, hell, I even handed you the gun once." He shook his head, "If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that you can't kill me. You don't have it in you."

Dean winced. "Yeah, well, I just fired a bullet at your head. Guess that shoots down your little theory."

"Yeah…I'm genuinely surprised." Sam said simply, looking almost sad. "I thought…" he cut off abruptly, and his gaze shifted to the door. He frowned. "It seems that _someone _is listening in on our private conversation…" he trailed off and waved a hand at the door. The door disappeared in an instant, revealing a young man standing on the threshold. The man gasped and jumped back, staring around the bloodied room in horror. "Oh God…what…"

"Luke?!" Dean said, shocked. Of all the people that might have been hiding behind that door, Luke wasn't even on his list. He tried once more to pull himself off the wall. "Luke—get out of here—"

Sam raised an eyebrow and laughed. "No, he stays." He said simply, and with the simple flick of his wrist Luke was thrown through the air and pressed hard against the wall opposite Dean.

Luke let out a cry of surprise, his eyes wide. He let out a whimper.

Sam walked right up to Luke and stared critically at him. "Luke, right?" he said, "My name's Sam…we met a few weeks ago at that hotel, remember?"

Luke nodded mutely.

"_What_ are you doing here?" Sam demanded.

Luke winced, breathing in short, terrified gasps. "Uh…I…" he trailed off, thinking quickly. "I was driving by and wanted a place to spend the night?" he muttered hesitantly.

Sam shook his head. "You're a terrible liar." He said.

Luke bit his lip. "I was never good at poker…"

"I would think not." Sam said. "Tell me the truth, kid, or I'm going add a fresh coat of blood red paint to the walls in here—understand what I mean? Now tell me…why are you here?"

Luke shook his head, terrified. "I don't know, I really don't know, it was a bad idea, okay? I just want to go home." He whimpered.

"Leave him alone!" Dean yelled furiously.

"What was a bad idea, Luke?" Sam questioned, ignoring Dean. "And stick to the facts if you want to live. I don't like being lied to."

"Leave the kid alone!" Dean shouted angrily. "He's got nothing to do with this!"

Sam shrugged. "Oh. Well, in that case…" he trailed off and reached a hand toward Luke's chest—

"No!" Luke shouted. "No, Sam, I'll tell you why I'm here, alright?"

Sam shrugged and withdrew his hand. "Make it quick."

Luke bit his lip and took a deep breath, "Well…you...you remember Katie, right? Over the last few weeks she has been acting _really _strange...and I don't mean just a little strange, I mean like holy crap she's freakin insane strange, right? Two nights ago I saw her sneaking out and I followed her and--and--and she stabbed some guy with this _freakishly_ huge knife and then started _eating _him, and, like, Katie's not a cannibal, I've known her for a long time, we have Spanish together, see, and she's actually a vegetarian, so there's no way that vegetarians eat human flesh—"

"Does your story have a point?" Sam demanded tiredly.

Luke gulped, and when he spoke his voice was even faster and slightly high pitched. "Right, sorry, I got off track there, sorry. So the next day I was freaking out because no way should Katie be eating people at night and then in Spanish class she looked at me all weird and tried to kiss me so I bolted out of the room and we had a test that period but I missed it and now I'm probably going to fail the class but I couldn't stay because she eats people and that's just soo not right—." He took a long breath, "So I ran back to my dorm and was like what do I need to do and it hit me that I should call Dean because he deals with weird stuff all the time and luckily I had stolen his phone number when he wasn't looking back when you and Katie were missing because of that whole water eats people issue so I called him several times but he didn't pick up so I figured that something was wrong and decided I needed to find him and my roommate Erik is this crazily smart technology freak with no social life so he was able to do this amazing thing to track Dean's phone and he gave me the coordinates and I drove here and now I really really wish I had just stayed home because you're probably going to start eating me and I don't want to die."

Sam stared at him, smiling softly. "You're terrified, aren't you."

"Is it that obvious?" Luke muttered, sweat dripping in beads down his face and he tried to push himself further into the wall to escape Sam.

Sam laughed. "Yeah…well, the good news is that I'm not going to eat you."

"Thank goodness…"

"The bad news is I'm still going to kill you."

Dean instantly fought harder to escape. "Don't touch him!"

"Oh just shut up, Dean. This kid is worthless anyway." Sam muttered tiredly, and he waved his hand toward Luke. The college student fell forward off the wall with a yelp of surprise and landed in a heap at his feet. "Sit there and be a good boy while I have a little talk with my big brother, okay Luke?"

"Okay…" Luke muttered fearfully.

"Good boy." Sam said sarcastically, and walked over to Dean.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"You're not Sam." Dean said simply, relief palpable in his voice. "You and Katie came back different…you're not Sam."

Sam laughed bitterly. "Wow, I'm impressed…it only took you about three weeks and the logical reasoning of a wimpy college student for you to figure that out, Dean. Some big brother you are."

Dean winced. "Where's Sam?" he demanded angrily.

He laughed. "Well, it's a little late for that, isn't it?"

Worry shot through Dean, twisting through his stomach, "What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it, Dean. It's been three weeks...Sam's bound to be dead by now…"

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	14. Chapter 14

**I am so so ****so**** sorry for how long it has taken for me to get this chapter written. It got put on the back burner because of mid-terms, papers, and a Disney trip over fall break, but I haven't forgotten about this story, I promise! **

_Dean winced. "Where's Sam?" he demanded angrily._

_He laughed. "Well, it's a little late for that, isn't it?"_

_Worry shot through Dean, twisting through his stomach, "What do you mean?"_

"_Well, think about it, Dean. It's been three weeks...Sam's bound to be dead by now…"_

Dean's breath caught in his throat. "You're lying." He said hoarsely.

"Why would I lie?" the doppelganger said with a sneer, tilting its head to the side to better glimpse the haunted expression in Dean's eyes, "You're the one trapped against the wall with no backup and no way of escape. You can't kill me, and I've got nothing to lose."

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked again.

"Dead."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he fought harder against his invisible bonds. "That's not true!"

It stepped closer to Dean, and their gazes connected, "Sammy's been rotting somewhere for over a week now...and you didn't even suspect that he was missing, did you?"

"Sam's not dead!" Dean raged.

"Yes he is, Dean. But what do you care, anyway? I fooled you for three whole weeks. You really thought I was Sam." It grinned. "How well do you _really_ know your brother, Dean? You couldn't even tell the difference."

Dean glared at him.

The doppelganger laughed, "And do you know what makes this victory even sweeter? Sam had such high faith in you that he actually had me worried for a moment. '_Stay the hell away from my brother' _Sam said, _'You're_ _wrong, Dean will suspect something' _Sam said. But you didn't suspect, Dean. Not even for a moment."

Dean's glare wavered significantly but he didn't look away. "What do you want from us?"

It shrugged, its face oddly blank. "Nothing." It said.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, well, forgive me if I don't believe that."

"No, it's true. I don't want anything from you, or anyone else for that matter."

"Then what the hell are doing here?" Dean spat bitterly, looking around for a way to escape. His mind was racing. _Sam couldn't be dead, he_ _couldn't_...

"I was just testing you. That's what we do, we test people."

"Test them for _what_?" Dean demanded. He stared angrily at the doppelganger, and to his surprise its expression softened slightly. For a moment, it was as though looking at the real Sam.

"I wanted to see if you could tell the difference between reflections and reality." It finally said. "To see if there is a deeper aspect of relationships than just physical appearance and knowledge of facts."

Dean stared back at him in disbelief and shook his head. "Wow, that's deep. Look buddy, I don't mean to interrupt your meaningful philosophical discussion, but you haven't just been testing people. You've been killing people in cold blood."

The doppelganger's expression hardened again. "That's because _no one _has been able to tell the difference. Not one." With one last glance at Dean, it turned and walked back over to where Luke was crouched down next to the wall.

"No—_NO_!" Dean shouted, guessing what was going to happen. "Damn it, no! Kill _me_, alright? If you have issues with humanity that's fine, but don't take them out on the kid!"

It rolled its eyes. "Luke is _hardly _still a kid, Dean." It said dryly. It nudged Luke with its boot. "How old are you, Luke?"

Luke stared up at him with eyes wide with terror. "Uh…n-nineteen."

"See? He's plenty old enough. Old enough to drive, old enough to vote, almost old enough to drink, and definitely old enough to die."

Luke whimpered.

"Leave him alone!" Dean growled.

"You might want to look away, bro," it said mockingly, "Things are about to get messy."

Luke didn't need any more warning. He bolted up and tried to dash past under his captor's arm, but the doppelganger reached down and grabbed his wrist.

"Where do you think you're going, hmm?" it demanded teasingly.

Luke whimpered and struggled, twisting his wrist back and forth to try to escape his strong grip. It was hopeless. "Don't—please just…" he trailed off, suddenly feeling dizzy, disconnected, "Just don't…" he paused again, and held his other hand up to his head as white spots began appearing in front of his eyes. "I…" The world spun, and he shut his eyes tightly. "Oh God…_what_…"

The doppelganger took Luke's change of expression to mean that he had given up. "Goodbye Luke." It said simply, releasing the young man's wrist as it raised its own hand over Luke's head—

"No!" Dean shouted.

Luke's eyes snapped open. He glanced around wildly for a moment as though he had no idea where he was. His eyes finally focused on Dean trapped against the wall and then snapped to the doppelganger who had its arm raised to kill him—

"Luke, run!" Dean yelled, "Get out of here!" He expected Luke to try to run away like before. He expected him to bolt out of the room and run until he reached Canada.

This didn't happen.

Luke's fist shot out in a perfect right hook, catching the doppelganger completely off guard. It staggered backward a few steps and then disbelievingly touched its lip. Blood came off on its fingers. Its lips twisted into a smile and it looked back at Luke. "Well…I see you've got some fight in you after all, Luke. I'm impressed."

Instead of running to the door, Luke's gaze flicked toward the gun on the floor for the tiniest fraction of a second.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded in disbelief. "Run!"

"I don't think so." The doppelganger said, raising its hand over Luke's head for a second time.

Luke dove sideways toward the ground with surprising skill and skidded over to where the gun was lying by the bathroom door. He stood up quickly and pointed it straight at the creature's chest.

The doppelganger sighed, instantly bored. "Oh, that's right. You missed the part where Dean here _already discovered_ that guns are useless against me…but I am quite intrigued by your sudden self-defense skills."

Dean scowled. "Damn it, Luke! Stop playing the hero and get out of here!"

Luke glanced at Dean for a moment and then pulled the trigger.

The bullet shot out of the chamber and—like before—stopped inches away from the creature's chest. It laughed. "What did I tell you—"

His face set and determined, Luke flung his arm out toward the doppelganger. The bullet instantly resumed its motion and embedded itself in the creature's chest.

It immediately stopped laughing, and its mouth dropped open in shock. "What the _hell_?!" it raged. "You have powers?!"

Dean stared in absolute disbelief as Luke dropped the now empty gun and stared at the creature, waiting for its next wave of fury. There was something in Luke's face that hadn't been there before. Something was different about him…

The doppelganger shot a blast of energy toward Luke, but as Dean watched Luke shot out a blast of energy of his own, and the two beams met in the middle of the room, balanced.

"Holy _shit_…" Dean muttered in disbelief. He felt an unexpected release of pressure on his body and fell onto the carpet, free. The creature had bigger threats at the moment than furious older brothers.

The energy and tension in the room was so palpable that Dean remained crouched by the wall, cautiously watching the fight and trying to think of something he could do to help Luke—

"Dean!" Luke shouted, his voice strained as he kept the energy flowing, "I need you to find me a mirror!"

Dean blinked. "What? How is a mirror going to help?" he shouted back.

Luke scowled. "Damn it, Dean, stop being a jerk and get me a damn mirror! I know what I'm doing!"

Dean blinked and stared at him. That wasn't Luke's voice—

"Dean! Now, man! We're equally matched, but I can't keep this up forever!"

As Dean stared in confusion Luke's eyes shifted slightly so that they caught Dean's for only a moment before swinging back toward the doppelganger. That moment was enough for Dean to put the pieces together. That wasn't Luke—

It was _Sam_.

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	15. Chapter 15

_As Dean stared in confusion Luke's eyes shifted slightly so that they caught Dean's for only a moment before swinging back toward the doppelganger. That moment was enough for Dean to put the pieces together. That wasn't Luke—_

_It was __Sam__._

Dean's mouth fell open. "What the hell—"

"_Now_, Dean!" Sam growled at him as he thrust another burst of energy at the doppelganger. The windows behind the creature shattered into thousands of tiny shards. It let out an inhuman shriek of anger and thrust the same volume of power back at Sam. Cracks began inching their way across the bloody surface of the walls of the room as they strained and groaned under the sudden surge of power.

Dean shielded his eyes against the sudden brightness and dove for the door. He staggered out into the hallway and looked around wildly. _A mirror—where the hell did Sam expect him to find a damn mirror that wasn't bolted to the wall?! _

He raced down the hallway and skidded on the slick hardwood floor into the lobby. He glanced around—no mirror. The elderly man at the desk hadn't moved, he was still calmly seated in his plush chair with his face hidden behind the folds of the paper. Dean ran up to him and rudely snapped his fingers in front of his face. "I need a mirror! Now!" he shouted quickly, glancing back as he heard a shriek of agony echo through the hallway.

The elderly man glanced up at him slowly. "What?"

"A mirror!" Dean snapped impatiently. "I need a mirror!"

"What's that, now?"

"I need a damn handheld mirror!"

"You need to speak up, boy, I can't hear—"

Dean let out a roar of exasperation and took off running without another word. He started to dash back into the hallway to see if any of the rooms were miraculously unlocked, but he stopped abruptly and then ran back outside and into the parking lot as quickly as he could. A tangible—yet horrifying—idea was forming in his mind…

SNSNSN

Sam felt as though his mind was going to explode.

Or Luke's, since he was currently inhabiting his body.

Either way, he was trapped between a rock and a hard place and there was nothing he could do about it. His only consolation was that his look-a-like was just as helpless as he was.

The doppelganger had copied Sam so completely that they were perfectly balanced in every single way imaginable. They had the same powers, moves, and tricks. Neither was capable of winning, but at the same time neither was willing to give up. They were locked in a stalemate. It was only a matter of time before they were both completely drained of energy and one of them made a fatal error.

Sam was completely out of ideas. As he dodged another blast his eyes flicked to the door for a moment and he exhaled in relief that Dean hadn't returned yet. It was too dangerous for his brother to be in the room while he and the doppelganger were fighting. There was too much raw energy splattering around, and if Dean was hit…

A twinge of guilt shot through him at the thought of his brother. He knew that Dean's stubborn protectiveness would never actually allow him to willingly leave whilst 'helpless Sammy' was fighting for his life—so he had sent him on a wild goose chase for a mirror, an object which he knew Dean wouldn't be able to find in the hotel short of prying one off of a wall or accosting a showering woman for her compact mirror. It had been the first object to come to his mind. He didn't even _need_ a mirror, but the search had worked as a distraction for Dean.

Surprisingly, Sam didn't regret the lie. This wasn't Dean's fight. He had to finish this before Dean got back, he had to end it before his brother got hurt—Sam paused. _Was this how Dean felt all the time?_

**BANG**

Sam flinched back from the unexpected blast of a gun. His eyes shot up—Katie was standing just inside the doorframe. Her hair sifted around her face in dirty strings of blonde, almost covering up her bloodshot eyes underlined with dark circles. She smiled, and death grinned up at him from her sunken eyes.

"Hello, Sam." She said softly. "Miss me?"

Sam's gaze shifted to the gun in her hand—the gun that was leveled with his chest. The gun that had already gone off. He glanced down at his chest.

A trickle of crimson was seeping from the wound. _Shit…_

"Damn it, Katie," another voice exclaimed angrily, "This is _my _fight! I told you to stay out of this!"

Katie sneered. "I just wanna have a little teensy bit 'a fun, darling. That's all…"

Sam exhaled slowly. The shock of what had happened was wearing off, and the pain began to register. His breath hitched and he cursed silently. _Punctured lung? Could this day get any worse?_

"…because it takes the fun out of everything if you go and spoil it like that!" the doppelganger was shouting, "What the hell did shooting him accomplish? It was too damn _easy_, this one was actually a challenge—"

"Ohhh dear, so sorry…" Katie shot back, "Didn't realize that _you're _the only one that can have any fun—"

Sam stood there, staring between the two in disbelief. They seemed to have completely forgotten that he was there. He raised his hands and concentrated—

"Hey!" Katie shouted angrily as her gun flew out of her hand and landed on the other side of the room. Her piercing gaze locked on his.

Sam didn't waste any time. He flung out his hand again, intending to knock his lookalike back with a blast of power—but he was too slow. Sam felt something engulf him—bright, blazing energy burnt through every inch of his being—he was gasping, choking, dying—

Then suddenly it was gone.

He was lying face down on the bloodied carpet, his breathing coming out in shallow, wheezing gasps. _What was going on…he couldn't think…_

"SAM!"

Sam's eyes shot open. _Dean._ He concentrated with all the strength he had left and managed to lift his face up just in time to see his doppelganger slam his brother across the room with the flick of his hand. Dean hit the wall hard and slid to the ground, but his eyes were open, and they were burning with anger despite his pain. "Is that all you've got?" he demanded fiercely.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God…_

"Okay, that's it. Stop playing with him." Katie chided, stepping next to the doppelganger. She grabbed onto its arm until it looked at her. "Finish him already. He doesn't have powers like the other one, he's just a nuisance. Blast him with that new power of yours and be done."

Sam's blood ran cold. _No no no_—he tried to move, but the damage done by his doppelganger's power and Katie's bullet seemed to have done more damage than he had imagined. Moving was _agony_.

The doppelganger looked down at Katie, an odd expression on its face. "What?"

She sighed, aggravated. "Kill him." She said slowly, as though speaking to a child, "And then we can work on the other one! Sam's the one you want, right? I can't believe he's actually here—I felt his power from miles away, and I just _knew_. He came back, willingly, and his soul is _ours_ for the taking. The power he holds…" she grinned and ran her tongue over her lips, "_Delicious._"

"Stay the hell away from my brother!" Dean growled.

The doppelganger stared at him. "Why?"

Dean blinked, taken aback by the real tone of curiosity in its voice. "Because I _said so_, damn it! If you so much as touch him…" Dean trailed off, leaving the threat open and real.

Sam gritted his teeth and managed to push himself up into a crawling position. All eyes were focused on Dean, and the gun…Katie's gun… was only a few feet away. Agonizing pain shot through his body—_or was it Luke's body?_—as he forced himself to creep toward it. _It was so far away… _After moving only a few inches he collapsed on the ground, exhausted. Blood smeared across the carpet underneath him. His vision blurred until he could barely see. What the hell had that thing done to him? It even hurt to breathe. He glanced back up at the creatures, forcing himself to listen—

"Why won't you just kill him?" Katie demanded furiously. "He's useless to us! Put the gun to his head and squeeze the trigger—lights out, the end. "

The doppelganger looked away, obviously conflicted. "But…he might be useful to us…"

"Like hell—he's about as useful as a tanning salon in the desert! We don't need him! He doesn't even have powers!"

The doppelganger glared at her. "You know nothing about him or why he could be useful! I'm the one that spent the last few weeks with him!"

Katie's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. "Well then—_you _tell me one good reason why we need him alive."

The doppelganger blinked. It looked away. "I…I…"

Sam's mouth dropped open as everything clicked into place. _"Holy shit…" _he breathed, staring up at his lookalike—his complete lookalike—the one that had his powers, his moves, his thoughts…and apparently a lot more of Sam Winchester than it had expected. _It can't bring itself to kill Dean…_

Sam glanced up at his brother, who was still lying by the wall, warily glaring up at the two creatures who were discussing his fate. Dean's eyes instantly snapped to his. Sam blinked, surprised once again by Dean's unexplainable second sense when it came to him. Dean's gaze was full of worry, and Sam winced as he was reminded of how much he felt like death warmed over. He needed to talk to his brother…

An idea popped into his head. He glanced up at Katie and the doppelganger—who were still arguing—and then back at his brother. He concentrated, _hard,_ and then—

_Dean…can you hear me?_

Dean blinked, completely surprised at hearing his brother's voice inside his head. He nodded slightly and gazed at Sam, alarmed at how his brother's eyes were barely still open.

Sam sighed in relief. _Good…wasn't sure this was going to work, haven't tried it before. Look…the doppelganger messed up. It made itself too much like me, so since I wouldn't kill you, it can't either. I can't say Katie's got a soft spot for you, though…she wants you dead. I'm going to go for her gun—but I need you to distract them. I don't care how…Winchester charm, whatever. _

Dean shot him 'the look'—the worried, angry, inquiring look.

_I'm fine. _

Dean's eyes narrowed at the obvious lie. He stared intently back at his little brother, trying to gage just how badly he was hurt—and failing miserably because, naturally, that _wasn't _Sam's body—it was Luke's. He had no idea of knowing what had happened to his brother since he had been trapped in another world for weeks on end. He had no idea—

_Stop beating yourself up about this, Dean. It's not your fault. _

Dean glanced quizzically up at his brother.

_No I didn't read your mind, I could tell by the guilty look on your face. I'm fine, Dean. Really. Now do what you do best and cause a major distraction. _

Dean nodded softly. He met Sam's eyes for another moment before reluctantly breaking the contact. He wanted nothing more than to run over to his brother and help him—and it was killing him that he had _no idea_ what was really wrong with Sam. Sure, he had injuries from fighting the doppelganger, but who knew what had happened to him during the last few weeks—

Dean pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn't worry about that now, he had a job to do.

"…I can't believe this!" Katie was exclaiming, her bloodshot eyes practically bulging from her head in anger. "If you can't do something as simple as put a bullet through his brain, I'll do it!"

"Don't you dare!" the doppelganger snarled. "If anyone's going to kill him, it'll be me! I--"

"Would the two of you just _shut_ _up _already!" Dean interrupted loudly. He stood up slowly, countering their murderous glares with his own charming smile. "I get it. You're going to kill me. _Fantastic_, I can't wait, and I have to admit that the suspense is killing me_. _How bout we settle this issue with a friendly game of rock paper scissors?"

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	16. Chapter 16

**I've decided to take a short break from finals…so I wrote the next chapter. Thanks to all of you who are still reading! Enjoy!**

"…_I can't believe this!" Katie exclaimed, her bloodshot eyes practically bulging from her head in anger. "If you can't do something as simple as put a bullet through his brain, I'll do it!"_

"_Don't you dare!" the doppelganger snarled. "If anyone's going to kill him, it'll be me! I--"_

_"Would the two of you just __shut__up __already!" Dean interrupted loudly. He stood up slowly, countering their murderous glares with his own charming smile. "I get it. You're going to kill me. __Fantastic__, I can't wait, and I have to admit that the suspense is killing me__. __How bout we settle this issue with a friendly game of rock paper scissors?"_

For a moment the two creatures glared at him, and then Katie cocked her head to the side and laughed. "Sure, I'm game. I'm going to go with scissors through your brain."

"We're _not _killing him." Sam's doppelganger hissed through clenched teeth.

"Or I could bash his head in with a rock." She continued sweetly. "Not sure how to go about the paper though…but if you give me a few minutes I'm sure I could get creative."

The doppelganger narrowed its eyes at her. "I said _no_."

Dean shrugged and looked apologetically at Katie. "Sorry sweetheart, it seems you're stuck with me."

"I don't think so." Katie said simply, and pulled out another pistol.

Dean nervously bit his lip and forced himself not to look at Sam as he crawled toward the gun. _Move faster, Sammy…_ "Where the hell were you hiding _that_?" he said, hoping to distract her for a few more moments.

"You're not shooting him." Sam's doppelganger said flatly.

"Oh…I am, darling." She said simply, cocking the gun. "I am. Just watch me…" she raised the gun, aiming for the center of Dean's forehead.

"Whoa, wait just a second lady, let's not do anything rash." Dean said hurriedly, lifting his hands up to show her that he wasn't a threat. "Put down the gun."

"You're not in a position to make any demands right now." She said, and pulled the trigger.

The gun merely clicked. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "What—"

"You shouldn't have done that…" Sam's doppelganger growled. It turned to her and held out its hand—

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the girl gasped for air, clutching at her throat as though someone was choking her. Almost immediately there was a crack—five cracks—ten cracks—she fell to the floor silently screaming in agony as all of her bones were slowly broken one by one in dozens of places. It sounded almost like popcorn popping in the microwave.

"I told you _no_." the doppelganger said flatly, as the girl's body jerked mercilessly on the ground. He concentrated harder and blood seeped out through her pores.

Dean watched in horror as the creature tortured her. _With Sam's powers._ A nasty voice said in the back of his mind, _Sam is capable of that…_

**BANG **

The creature stopped the torture suddenly and lowered its hand, realizing what had happened. It whirled around. "_You_." It hissed.

Dean's blood ran cold. _No._ _Damn it, NO._

Their only possible means of success had failed. Sam had shot the doppelganger—there was a bullet hole in center of its chest—but it was still alive. His brother was kneeling on the ground with the gun in his hand.

The creature stared at Sam, analyzing him. Then, without warning, he laughed. The echoes of the cold laughter filled the room, ringing eerily. "You can't kill me!" the creature shrieked. "In fact, since this is _your _body, you just killed yourself—_without _killing me!"

Dean's mouth dropped open. _Oh God, no. _"That's not true." He muttered firmly, as though by saying it he could make it so. "You're just a doppelganger. That's not how it works."

"How the hell do you know what's true or not, Dean?" the creature snapped, its smile fading, "In case you haven't noticed, you know next to nothing about anything these days. And who, exactly, said that I was _just a doppelganger_?"

"Who _exactly _said that you were anything else?" Sam shot back sharply.

The creature turned to stare at him. It smiled. "Oh Sammy…"

"No, don't 'oh Sammy' me." Sam snapped darkly. "You don't hold all the cards anymore. I've had two damn weeks to figure out how you work. I know all about how you tick."

The creature raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" he sneered. A twinge of pain shot through his chest. He blinked hard and shook his head slightly.

"Yes." Sam said. "You have my powers. You have my emotions. And you do have my body."

Dean took in a sharp intake of breath, but Sam ignored his brother, keeping his eyes focused on the creature.

"So what?" the doppelganger shot back. "All that proves is that you're dead." The pain in its chest had increased significantly, and it scowled.

"No." Sam said. "All that proves is that I would die if I got shot in the heart."

"And?"

"And you're a copy of me." He said simply. "You do the math."

"I—" the creature began, and laughed wildly, his eyes wide, "I can't be killed—"

A second gunshot sounded in the room. Three pairs of eyes shot toward the doorway—Bobby was standing there, holding a shotgun. "Wanna bet?" he growled.

The creature glanced down at the second bullet hole in his chest. "Bobby?" he muttered, playing the innocent card. "Y-you shot me."

"Don't pull that crap on me." Bobby muttered. "I've been listening at the door for about thirty seconds—and that was plenty of time for me to get that you're _not_ Sam."

The creature glared at him, and its lips curled into a sneer. "Yeah." He said, "But you just helped kill him…after all, this is his body."

Sam pointed his gun at the creature again.

"Sammy…don't." Dean pleaded.

The creature's grin grew. "Having suicidal thoughts, _Sammy_?" it taunted.

Sam glared at him. "I'm not letting you hurt anyone else."

He fired.

The creature raised a hand in front of itself and the bullet hovered in midair a foot away. "Ha!" it exclaimed triumphantly, "You should've seen this coming—"

Sam pushed out with the last of his remaining strength and the bullet finished its course, burying itself inside the creature's chest.

The doppelganger paused midsentence. He stared at Sam for a moment, confused. "I…but you…" it muttered, and then collapsed on the carpet without another word.

Dean instantly moved, dropping to the doppelganger's side. He checked for a pulse.

"Dean…" Sam muttered softly.

Dean breathed out in relief. "There's a pulse, thank God. Bobby—"

"I'll call an ambulance." Bobby finished, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

Dean stood up and hurried to Sam's side. _Shit…_

"This is bad, isn't it?" Sam asked, reading the faint twinges of panic on Dean's face.

Dean didn't meet his eyes, and instead he took off his jacket and tried to stanch some of the bleeding. "No," he said quietly, "Everything's going to be fine."

Sam winced as Dean pressed down hard. "I don't believe you." He said, "If I was going to be fine you would have shot off some sort of joke."

Dean pressed down harder on the wound but said nothing. _Oh God…_

Sam stared up at his older brother's face. "Is Luke going to be okay?" he muttered weakly, "This is his body, after all."

Dean bit his lip. "Yeah, Luke's gonna be fine, Sammy. It's not…that bad…" he paused and shot Bobby a glance. The older man had finished the call and was instinctively trying to stop the torrent of blood that was pouring out of Sam's real body. _So much blood…_

"Okay Dean." Sam murmured with a small smile.

Dean's hands trembled as he tried to stop the blood. He had to save Sam…but this wasn't Sam's body, this was Luke… "I'm getting too old for this shit, Sammy." He muttered.

Sam laughed weakly. "Yeah. You and me both."

Dean shook his head, and his hand stilled. He looked up, finally meeting Sam's eyes. "Oh _God, _Sam—I should have known! I should have figured out that it wasn't you!"

Sam sighed. He had expected this. "Dean—"

"Two weeks, Sammy!" Dean continued, ignoring him, "Two damn weeks, and I didn't even notice, I didn't even suspect that something was wrong—"

"No one ever does, Dean." Sam said firmly, "The creatures become exact copies of the people they duplicate—"

"But I'm not everyone else, Sam!" Dean said bitterly, "I'm a hunter. I'm supposed to notice when my little brother is trapped somewhere! I'm not supposed to be fooled by a damn look-a-like creep for two weeks!"

"Dean." Sam said, grabbing his brother's wrist firmly. "It's okay."

Dean shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "No it's _not_, Sammy." He muttered softly. "This isn't even your body. This is Luke's body, and even if he survives you can't possess him forever. Your real body was just shot three times in the chest, and even _if _the ambulance _ever gets here_ and the doctors manage to get your body in a stable condition, _who's going to wake up_? You or that…that _thing_? And how will I ever be able to tell the difference if I couldn't tell for two whole weeks?"

Sam stared at his brother, the raw emotion in his voice chilling him to the core. "I…I don't know, Dean." He said honestly. "I don't know."

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	17. Chapter 17

**Hey everyone, thanks so much for sticking with me. Here's the next chapter, enjoy!**

Luke opened his eyes.

The task alone took almost three minutes as he struggled to make his heavy eyelids move. After he had them open it took another two minutes for him to figure out that he was in a hospital.

Thirty seconds _after _he had that part figured out he remembered _why _he was there.

He screamed—

And screamed again—

And again—

Nurses ran into his room at top speed, their shoes squeaking on the polished floor as they slid to a stop next to his bed. "Sir!" one of them shouted urgently, grasping a hold of his arms and gently trying to force him back onto the bed. "Sir, you have to stay still!"

Luke screamed _louder_.

"He's going to hurt himself—" another voice said firmly, and started yelling out directions to the others.

Luke didn't hear another word she said. His wild eyes had focused on a figure standing in the doorframe to his room—Dean Winchester.

He screamed anew and started thrashing about with renewed fervor, because if _he _was here, if _Dean Winchester _was outside of his room, that meant that the bloody hotel room, the demons, the possession, the pain—all of it was _real._

His vision clouded and he realized that the nurses had given him something as his pain dulled and sudden drowsiness took over. Before he drifted off to sleep, he wondered why Dean looked so disappointed.

**SNSNSN**

It was dark when he woke for a second time.

The machines were beeping merrily beside him, but the nurses were all gone. There was a faint light on in the hallway.

His throat _ached_. He swallowed hard and glanced over at the wooden stand next to his bed—there was a pitcher of water on it. He raised his arm to grab it but something jerked, stopping him. He frowned—wires and IV's were protruding from his arm. He made a face and reached over with his other arm to try to rip them off—

"I wouldn't." a voice said quietly from inside the room. "The nurses get crabby when you mess with all that."

Luke jerked his hand back and sat further back in his bed, glancing around fearfully. "Who—who's there??"

"It's just me." The voice said tiredly.

Luke shut his eyes. _Oh. _"Dean?"

"Yeah." He paused. "Are you going to start screaming again?"

Luke opened his mouth to say no but shut it again quickly. "Maybe." He said truthfully. He worked on breathing for a few moments, alarmed when the motion wasn't as easy as it should be.

Dean seemed to realize his momentary fears. "You're going to be okay." He said, "The nurses say you won't have any lasting physical problems…you should be free to go in a few weeks."

Luke bit his lip and forced himself not to panic. "Yeah…unless I'm attacked again."

"You won't be…we took care of it."

He laughed, and his voice came out with a hysterical twinge, "You know—Dean—that's the thing. About scary movies—there's always a sequel."

"Not this time." Dean said flatly.

"No—you're wrong." He continued, "See—this is a horror movie. Because—Katie's dead."

There was a pained pause. "Yes."

He took a big gasp of air, almost hysterical. "Oh God—Oh God—and _everyone else_ that those demons possessed is dead—and the only reason you survived is because you're the hero, and the only reason I survived is…is…is that I'm the _comic relief_."

There was no answer.

"But in the sequel—" Luke babbled on, "The comic relief dies in some horrific way, and—"

"This _isn't_ a movie, Luke." Dean hissed. "Now _shut up_ before you give yourself a heart attack."

Luke fell silent, his mind still racing. A few minutes passed and he looked over to where he knew Dean was, a new question forming in his mind. "Dean…"

"Yeah?" Dean muttered, annoyed.

"…where's Sam?"

Silence.

Luke's face fell. "Is…is he…"

"He's…alive." Dean said roughly. "In a coma."

Luke breathed out. "Is…is he going to be okay?"

There was a banging sound as though something heavy had slammed into the wall. Luke jumped and clenched his hand around his bed sheet. He peered into the dark room, his heart pounding heavily.

"No." Dean hissed. "No, he is _not _going to be _okay_. The only thing keeping him alive right now are _machines_. Every doctor in this hospital is convinced that he's brain dead, and they keep telling me that his chance of just_ waking up _is five-percent. _Five-percent!_" There was a screech of metal against the floor as he sank down into a chair.

Luke swallowed hard. "What…what are you going to do?"

"I…I can't take him off life support." Dean said softly. "I can't…"

A few minutes of silence passed.

Luke looked up. "How long have I been out?"

"Four days." Dean said lifelessly.

"Oh." Luke said, surprised. "But…my parents…"

"They've been here every day during visitor hours."

Luke nodded, and then his eyes narrowed. "But _you're _here…"

"Do I seem like the type of guy who follows _rules_?"

Luke made a face and leaned back into his warm bed. "Is Sam in this room too?" he asked softly, already sure of the answer.

"Yes."

"Figured you weren't here for me." Luke said. He paused, a new idea flashing through his mind. "Dean…if the doctors say Sam is brain dead…did you consider that they might be right?"

Silence descended again—this time with a sharper edge.

"Let me explain." Luke said hurriedly. "And I don't know if I have the answer, okay? I'm scarred for life after everything that's happened…but…"

"But what?" Dean interjected.

"Look, I'm just making guesses based off all the impossible things that have already occurred since I've had the misfortune of meeting you…"

"Just say it."

"But I'm_ not_ the supernatural know it all, alright? I'm just a college nerd with very little chance of any kind of—"

"Spit it _out _Luke." Dean said harshly.

Luke nodded and continued hurriedly, "What if…what if Sam's not in his body, and that's the problem here? What if his soul's trapped somewhere else? You know…like before."

Dean's head snapped up. "What do you mean?" he demanded, standing up and walking forward until he was next to Luke's bed.

Luke looked at Dean. "Well…you know how Sam and…" his voice faltered. "_Katie…_" he added softly, "Were possessed? Well…where were their souls _then_? Where were they trapped?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, and he ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "I don't know." He said, all business again, "She and Sam disappeared in that creek next to the College…" he trailed off. "You don't think that something at the College is…" he trailed off, deep in thought.

"Don't ask me." Luke wailed. "I don't _know_. I'm just trying to offer up a suggestion besides you giving up and then shooting yourself, which—no offense—seems to be where you're headed."

Dean nodded, his jaw set in determination. "I have to go."

Luke blinked. "It's the middle of the night—"

"I know." Dean said, walking toward the door, "I have to find Sam…I abandoned him for the last two weeks—this ends _now_."

"You think his soul is trapped somewhere at the College?" Luke demanded. "But…what if I'm wrong?"

Dean looked back at him and offered him a weak smile. "Well, I guess I'll have to go with Plan B." he said, and walked away.

Luke frowned. "Plan B better not involve any guns!" he shouted weakly after him. There was no answer. He sighed and fell back against his pillow and swallowed. _Really thirsty…_

He looked back at the water pitcher. "I can reach that." He muttered softly. He shifted to the side to take some of the strain off all the wires and IV's and then reached out his hand. He curled his fingers slowly around the handle and—

The pitcher tipped and fell off the table with a crash.

Luke bit his lip angrily. He could already hear the sound of the nurses' footsteps hurrying in his direction. "I hate my life…"

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	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks for all the reviews. Here's the next chapter—Enjoy! **

It was after 3:00 in the morning when Dean arrived at Grove City College. He pulled up the main drive, glancing at all the buildings with a sinking feeling. It was going could take _days _to search this place thoroughly—and Sam might not have that long.

He parked in a lot in front of the admissions office and stepped out of the Impala onto the blacktop. The air was crisp and cold, and the wind swept through him like ice. It smelled like rain, and as he looked up in the sky a lightning bolt cut across the dark clouds. He shook his head and slammed the door shut. "Figures…" he muttered, and turned away.

He checked his pockets quickly—guns…check—and slung a bag of equipment over his shoulder. As he began walking toward the first building, his cell phone rang. He scowled and answered it quickly. "Yeah?"

"_Hey Dean, it's just me."_

Dean stopped walking and raised his eyebrows. "Luke?"

"_You guessed it. Look, I know you probably know how to scan areas and hunt down freaky ghost activity and whatnot by yourself, but since it's the middle of the night I figured you might need some help accessing the buildings without getting caught."_

"I never get caught." Dean interjected dismissively.

"_Look, I already called in a favor so just hear me out, alright?"_

Dean's face darkened. "You did _what_?"

"_I called in a favor from my friend John—don't worry, I didn't tell him anything about what you do. Are you at the college yet?"_

"Yes." Dean muttered.

"_Good. Meet him by the chapel…I figured that would be the easiest landmark to find. Just look for the steeple."_

Dean rolled his eyes and turned slightly until he could see the steeple jutting up from behind a building. It was really close. "Luke…I really appreciate the offer, but I don't need your help."

"_Ha—right. Everyone needs help, dude. In your case, you need easy access to the dorms—I can get you cards to get into the buildings without having to pull on doors and walk up and down hallways looking like a crazed stalker who's about to kill someone."_

Dean sighed. "Luke—"

"_Just go meet John at the rendezvous point and get the access cards. I'm going to sleep—call me if you find what you're looking for."_

Dean heard a click as the line went dead. He frowned, debating what to do, and then gave in and started walking toward the chapel. It couldn't hurt to make this search any easier.

As he neared the chapel, he noticed that a man was sitting on one of the stone benches outside—blindfolded. Dean approached cautiously and looked around, but no one else was in sight.

"Hello?" the guy on the bench called nervously when he neared.

Dean cleared his throat and stepped up to him. "Are you…John?"

"Luke sent you." he said nervously. "You're here for the access cards."

Dean stared down at him in confusion. "Yes…"

The student pulled two cards out of his back pocket and held them out blindly toward Dean. "Here—there's one for girls' dorms and another for guys' dorms. You should be able to go anywhere that doesn't require an old fashioned key."

Dean reached out and took the cards. "Thanks…" he muttered. He turned to walk away but then paused, too intrigued to leave without an answer. "John…why are you blindfolded?"

John winced. "Um…well, when Luke called he told me that I should not under _any circumstances _get involved with what you're doing. He didn't even tell me your name."

"Oh. Okay…that makes sense."

The student nodded fervently. "Yeah…and he said that you're dangerous and really freaky nightmarish shit happens around you and that unless I want to die within the next week I should give you the cards and then forget I ever met you."

Dean almost smiled. "So you blindfolded yourself?"

"Yes!" He answered hastily. "Look, can you just leave?"

"Alright, I'm on my way." Dean replied, turning around and walking in the opposite direction. "You'll never see me again."

There was no answer.

Dean kept walking as he surveyed the buildings around him. There was no point in being allusive or stealthy—there were street lamps lining all the sidewalks, and their light reached every doorway. As long as he stayed in the light and walked around like a student he would be fine—unless anyone was watching too closely.

"Right…" he muttered. "If I was a demon…and I sucked out people's souls for a living…where would I keep them?"

He took out an EMF and switched it on. Nothing.

He clenched his teeth in frustration. "Okay…" he looked at the sign on the building closest to him—Ketler Men's Residence Hall. He walked up the front staircase and scanned his card—the light flicked from red to green, and he walked inside.

**SNSNSN**

He continued searching the dorms all night, but EMF didn't pick up _anything_. By seven o'clock, Dean was tired, frustrated, and hungry. He needed something to eat.

The elderly, grey haired lady at the counter eyed him suspiciously when he walked into the dining hall and scanned his card. "Morning." He said, flashing her a smile as he put the card back in his pocket.

She didn't say anything, but her wary gaze followed after him as he continued in to the food.

Dean grabbed a lunch tray, piled it with breakfast items, and sat down at an empty table. He picked up his bagel and began to eat, trying to ignore the stares he was getting from every other person in the lunchroom.

After less than five minutes, a guy stopped abruptly at his table and then sat down across from him. "You're Dean, aren't you?"

Dean blinked, his mouth full of food. "Who're 'ou?"

"I'm Matt…one of Luke's friends." He said levelly, "He called and told us you were coming to investigate something—and I just wanted to warn you that you don't fit in. At all. I'm pretty sure everyone in this cafeteria is aware that you aren't a student."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well…no one's questioned me yet."

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Matt questioned.

"Not yet." Dean said with a grim shrug. He moved to pick up his tray and then stopped. "Is John around?" he added with a small grin, unable to help himself.

Matt nodded and turned. "Yeah, he's over there." He pointed to a sandy haired man with glasses that was carrying his tray to the trash. John happened to glance over—saw Dean—and dropped his tray in horror. It fell with a clatter, splattering uneaten food everywhere.

Dean smirked.

Matt frowned, oblivious. "What's up with him?"

"No idea." Dean said, picking up his tray. "Well, I'm off to investigate all the buildings that were locked last night—"

"I can help." Matt broke in eagerly.

"No thanks."

"No, listen. If you walk around by yourself you're not going to fool anyone—it's obvious you're not a student. You're too old."

"I'm not _old_—"

Matt shook his head, "Everyone enrolled here is right out of high school—that's how this system works. You can't fool anyone by pretending to be a new student, it's obvious that you're not as young as the rest of us. If you stick with me I'll skip classes and pretend that you're my visiting older brother—that way I can give you a thorough tour of all the academic buildings. That's what you need, right?"

Dean frowned, thinking. "Okay." He said finally. "But I'm not telling you what we're looking for. It's too dangerous and I'm not getting anyone else involved."

"Fair enough." Matt said. "I don't want to end up like Luke."

Dean nodded and tipped the contents of his tray into the trash. "Let's get going."

**SNSNSN**

"Well…where do you want to go first? HAL? The SAC?"

Dean blinked and continued walking. "The sack?"

"No not the _sack_, the SAC—It's an acronym…just don't ask." Matt said simply. "Look, just point out a building and we'll check it out."

Dean nodded and looked around. His eyes settled on the nearest building. "What's that?" he asked, pointing.

"That's the PLC." Matt said.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really? And that would be what?"

Matt grimaced. "It's the physical learning center—the gym and other exercise rooms."

"Why didn't you just say that?" Dean demanded, walking toward the entrance. He stepped through the door and took out his EMF.

"What's that thing?" Matt asked curiously.

Dean glanced at him. "You didn't want to know anything, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

Dean frowned. Nothing was showing up—again. "Damn it…" he muttered. _Come on Sammy where are you??_

"Come on." Matt said, "This place is pretty big."

They walked through the hallways quickly, and each time they passed someone Matt broke out some useless fact that made it look like he was giving Dean a tour. Eventually they made it upstairs.

"This place is like a maze…" Dean muttered.

"Yeah." Matt said. "I don't know why they designed it like this—"

"Shut-up." Dean said suddenly, his body tense.

Matt froze. "What? What is it?"

Dean shook his head. "Just shut-up, okay?" he stared down at the EMF, hope flaring through him.

The needle had moved.

He took another step forward, and another. The needle rose gradually as he continued—and then the hallway ended at a closed door. Dean reached out and tugged on the handle, but it remained shut tight. "Locked…" he muttered.

"Do you want me to go find a key…" Matt began, but trailed off as he saw Dean fish around in his bag and begin picking the lock. "Oh…never mind."

There was a soft click as the lock gave way. Dean put the tool away and then pulled out his gun.

Matt stared, wide eyed. "You…you need a gun? Here?"

"Maybe." Dean muttered, reaching cautiously for the handle.

"But—that's just an old dance studio."

Dean glanced back at him. "Just shut-up and stay out here." He said firmly. He turned back toward the door and pushed down on the handle. The door opened, and the room inside was pitch black. He kept his gun up and fumbled around on the wall until he found the light switch.

He flicked it on, and the lights illuminated a large, empty room with wooden flooring and a wall of mirrors. He glanced down at the EMF—the needle was going crazy.

Dean walked into the room cautiously, his eyes watching all around even as they stared down at the needle. He walked up to the front, right next to the mirror.

And stopped.

"This is it." He muttered.

"A mirror?" Matt asked behind him.

Dean scowled but didn't turn around. "I thought I told you to stay out in the hallway."

"Sorry." Matt said quietly.

Dean stared into the mirror. "Okay…I found it. Now what am I supposed to do?" he bit his lip and gazed into the mirror's surface.

Nothing happened.

Dean frowned and pulled out his phone and scrolled down until he found the number he wanted.

"_Hello?"_

"I found it, Luke." He said, raising one hand to touch the mirror's cool surface. "It's a mirror."

"_Really? A mirror? Wow. That…that makes no sense at all."_

Dean shook his head. "The EMF picked up an enormous amount of energy right here and it seems to be coming from the mirror."

"_Well, that's good news, right? So…uh…what are you going to do?"_

"I don't know." Dean admitted. "And I know you don't either…I didn't call you to ask for your advice."

"_Good…cause I don't know."_

Dean sighed. He paused, and then carried out with the question he really wanted to ask. "How's Sam?"

There was a pause. _"There's no change."_

Dean nodded, his eyes set with determination. "I'll figure this out…I'll get him back."

"_I know." _

Dean snapped the phone shut.

"How's Luke doing?" Matt asked.

"He sounds fine." Dean answered dismissively, staring into the mirror. "This has to be it. This mirror is the key."

Matt stared at him, confused. "O-kay."

Dean exhaled softly, thinking. "This room is probably used all the time…and I'm guessing that no one ever saw anything in the mirror that scared them or they would have gotten rid of it. So that rules out looking for something in the glass."

"Yeah." Matt said, completely unaware of what was going on. "Sounds good."

"But what else am I supposed to do?" Dean asked, frustrated. "If I can't see anything how am I supposed to know what to do?"

"That is…a good question." Matt said lamely.

Dean glanced at him. "Look, I appreciate your help Matt, but there's no point in you sticking around. I'll take it from here. You just go back to class and…learn, or whatever it is you do."

Matt stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "Okay." He said finally. "Good luck…with whatever it is that you're doing."

Dean turned back to the mirror. "Thanks." He muttered absentmindedly. He heard Matt walk softly out of the room. As soon as he was gone, he slung his bag off his shoulder and put it on the ground.

Dean stared intently at the glass. _Could Sam see out of the mirror? Was he watching him right now?_

He frowned and looked away. He needed an idea—

His phone rang.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled it out. "Hello?"

"_Dean."_ Luke's voice said shakily from the other end.

Dean's breath caught in his throat. "What's wrong?"

"_It…It's Sam, Dean. His heart stopped."_

Dean clenched his teeth together. _No no no._ "Is he…is he…"

"_The doctors are working on getting it started again, but…if you're going to do something you better do it fast—"_

Dean slammed the phone shut and let it fall to the floor. He ran a hand helplessly over his face. "No no no no—" He stared at the mirror, his thoughts racing. "Damn it, Sammy, what am I supposed to do?!"

He stared frantically around the room, trying to come up with _something_—and paused. His gaze locked on a metal pipe that was lying with some equipment in the corner from a job that maintenance was working on. His eyes narrowed.

He strode over to the pipe, picked it up, and stalked back to the mirror, a furious glint in his eyes.

He swung.

And swung again. And again.

A spider web of cracks formed on the surface of the mirror. "Damn it!" he yelled angrily, "Come on!"

He swung once more with all his strength behind the blow—

A blinding golden glow exploded from the crack, shattering the entire mirror into thousands of glass shards and throwing Dean backwards into a pillar. He slammed into it hard, and the pipe fell out of his hand as all of his breath was squelched from his lungs from the force of the impact. He gritted his teeth from the pain and opened his eyes.

The golden light was gone, and in its place dozens of spirits were standing in the broken shards of glass, smiling down at him.

He tried to draw in a breath but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. With a jolt he realized that someone was kneeling beside him. He glanced up—Sam.

His whole body tensed. _No!_

Sam stared down at him, obviously concerned. "Dean. It's okay…I'm here. Just _breathe_."

Dean shook his head and tried to breathe so that he could yell at his brother to get out, to go back to his body before the doctors gave up—but he couldn't manage to pull the air into his lungs. His vision became spotted, and instead of speaking he reached out his hands and tried to push Sam away.

His hands went right through him.

Sam's worried eyes narrowed further. "Dean…calm down. You're fine—you just got the wind knocked out of you."

_No shit! _Dean glared at his brother frantically, and he was finally able to take a small breath. "S-sam—"

"Dean—it's okay. Calm down."

"N-no!" Dean managed to choke out, "You—you're _dying_ S-sam—r-right _now._ You—gotta—go—" he gritted his teeth as he tried to will his brother to understand between shallow breaths. He reached out weakly and tried to push his brother away again.

Sam understood. His eyes widened. "Oh—" he said horrified, standing up. He stared down at his brother's frantic gaze for another moment. "I'll be fine, Dean." He said with a comforting smile.

He disappeared.

**PLEASE REVIEW!! :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Keep in mind that this story will end well—no matter how bleak this chapter may seem at first. This is the next to last chapter, so my next post will be the conclusion. Enjoy!**

_Sam's worried eyes narrowed further. "Dean…calm down. You're fine—you just got the wind knocked out of you."_

_No shit! __Dean glared at his brother frantically, and he was finally able to take a small breath. "S-sam—"_

"_Dean—it's okay. Calm down."_

"_N-no!" Dean managed to choke out, "You—you're __dying__ S-sam—r-right __now.__ You—gotta—go—" he gritted his teeth as he tried to will his brother to understand between shallow breaths. He reached out weakly and tried to push his brother away again._

_Sam understood. His eyes widened. "Oh—" he said horrified, standing up. He stared down at his brother's frantic gaze for another moment. "I'll be fine, Dean." He said with a comforting smile._

_He disappeared. _

Dean stared at the place Sam had vanished, terror spreading through his veins. In the back of his mind he realized that all of the spirits were fading away, but he didn't take any notice. Instead, he concentrated on pulling enough breath in his lungs for him to reach his phone.

It was easier to breathe now, and as his breath slowly came back he clambered to his feet and stumbled across the wooden floor to his discarded phone.

He sank to his knees and pressed redial.

There was a soft click as Luke connected the call, but no answer.

"Luke." Dean muttered gravelly. "Is Sam…is he…I figured it out, I got him out…" he trailed off, unable to finish.

There was another pause. _"I'm so sorry, Dean."_

**SNSNSN**

Dean drove in a stupor.

His mind was blank, void of all emotion as he made the long trip back to the hospital. The trees along the road flew by as he kept his foot pressed firmly on the gas pedal, as though driving faster could help.

_Too late. _

He pulled into the hospital parking lot after several hours of driving and cut the engine. The absence of sound pulled him halfway back to reality and he opened the car door and stepped out, slamming it behind him.

He sprinted to the desk and gave his name to the woman standing there. Her face tightened instantly and she quietly let him know that Sam was still in the same room—they hadn't moved him yet. Dean walked away before she could say anything else.

The hallway seemed too long and too short all at once, and he made it to Sam's room all too quickly. He reached out and opened the door.

Luke's head instantly snapped up and then dropped again. His eyes were red.

Dean swallowed hard and forced himself to look further into the room. The curtain was still there, blocking his view.

Luke cleared his throat softly. "I…I told them not to move him until you came. I figured that you would want to…" he trailed off, fiddling with the trim of his bed sheet. "I'm so sorry, Dean." He whispered.

Dean ignored him. He stepped softly into the room and pushed the curtain aside.

He stared, unable to feel. Minutes passed as he gazed down at the pale white sheet that had been tactfully placed over the figure on the bed.

He wanted to run. As long as that sheet was there, as long as he couldn't _see_ the person underneath—it wasn't real. It wasn't _true_.

His feet felt as though they were bolted to the floor, and the floor was weaving strangely as though he were on a ship at sea. It took everything he had to force himself to take the last few steps to the bed.

He reached out one trembling hand, grasped the top edge of the white sheet, and pulled slowly.

He stared.

"No." he whispered shakily. "No." He sank to his knees on the cold floor as the numbness he had held onto for the last few hours finally snapped. He could feel now.

His throat burned as an anguished scream fought to escape, but the sound that broke free was barely a strangled moan. He gazed down at his brother, unable to tear his eyes away from his pale skin and closed eyes. "_No_." he whimpered. "_No._"

"The doctors said his injuries were too serious." Luke murmured softly from across the room. "The bullet wounds and…everything else…it was too much. His body couldn't take it."

Dean shook his head. "No. They're _wrong_." he choked out, "They didn't do enough. They could have saved him." He paused, and his voice fell further. "_I _could have saved him…I should have…"

"The doctors did everything they could." Luke said softly, "And so did you. There was nothing else you could have done, Dean."

Dean ignored him. "But I wasn't _here_. I should've been here...when..." He allowed his head to fall forward so that it rested on his brother's already cooling arm. He felt his tears pool on Sam's skin and he swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. "Not again." He whispered brokenly. "_Please_ not again. I _can't_…I…" his voice broke.

For a few moments there was only silence.

Luke gritted his teeth together tightly as he stared straight ahead, unsure of what else to say. There was nothing he _could _say. As he lied there, a soft rustling sound caught his attention. Dean stepped out with Sam's body held firmly in his arms.

Luke's eyes widened. "Dean…"

Dean walked toward the door. "I'm leaving." He said automatically, trying to ignore the coldness of Sam's skin.

Luke's mouth opened and shut repeatedly. "But—but they won't let you just _take him_—"

"Oh? Let them try and stop me." Dean said coldly. He left the room.

**SNSNSN**

**Two Weeks Later**

"_Dean…I'm just worried about you."_

"I'm fine Bobby." Dean lied darkly. "Really."

"_Fine? Boy, I know you're not fine. Listen, why don't you stay at my place for a little while? Just a week."_

"No." Dean said dismissively. "I need to be alone right now."

"_That's the last thing you need—"_

Dean angrily clenched his teeth together and pounded his fist on the dashboard of his car. "Damn it, _what do you want me to say_? I'm _fine_, Bobby. I haven't made any more deals, I buried Sam, and I've been hunting. That's _all_."

"_Alone?" _

Dean winced. He couldn't do this right now. "Bye, Bobby. Take care." He muttered coldly. He slammed the phone shut, cutting off his friend's next response, and hurriedly wrenched the battery out and threw both parts onto the backseat.

He rested his head against the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop his heart from racing. He winced as he unintentionally bumped one of the many cuts he had gotten on his last hunt. Ever since Sam had died, he had jumped from hunt to hunt as fast as he could track them down, trying to keep himself busy. He spent the time between hunts at bars, trying to forget.

It wasn't working.

He slowly sat back in his chair and ran his hands over his eyes, which were bloodshot from only getting a few hours of sleep every night. Sleep was impossible—the dark circles under his eyes testified to that.

"Right." He muttered. "Show time."

He got out of his car and stepped out into the night air. The cold wind helped to revive him slightly, and he walked to the trunk to retrieve a few guns. A cemetery loomed in front of him as he slammed the trunk shut. There had been several deaths in this small Virginian cemetery in the past few months—deaths which pointed to the work of a malevolent spirit.

He hadn't bothered to do any research on specifics. He never did anymore—safety wasn't an issue. He had no one left to keep safe.

He walked slowly through the iron gate. Crumbling gravestones jutted up around him from the ground, and as soon as he reached the middle of the cemetery he sunk down on a stone to wait.

Time crawled by.

After a long time, Dean checked his watch and scowled. "I don't have time for this…" he muttered, climbing slowly to his feet.

He drew his gun, a wild glint in his eyes, and fired into the air. "Anyone there?" he yelled tauntingly into the darkness. "Come and get me."

Silence.

Dean growled and spun around. He fired again. And again. And again.

The shots echoed loudly, and one bullet ricocheted off a stone. "Where are you?!" he shrieked, louder. "Come and get me!"

He raised his shotgun again, but before he could fire something latched onto his shoulder from behind and hurled him to the ground. He tumbled sideways, barely able to hold onto the gun as he was thrown into a tombstone.

He heard something crack.

The ghost was on him instantly, digging into every inch of his skin that it could reach.

Dean screamed angrily and brought the shotgun up. He fired—

He _missed_.

Before he could think of what to do next the ghost wrenched the gun out of his grasp and tossed it out of his reach.

It grinned down at him, and its eyes glistened with expectation—

There was a loud shot and the ghost exploded in a cloud of dust.

Silence.

Dean blinked, breathing hard. "What…" he muttered. _Someone else is here? _He tried to push himself up so that he could see what had just happened.

"Just stay still!" a voice ordered sternly. "Don't move. I'm coming."

Dean's head snapped up. The tone of voice sounded familiar somehow—

His eyes locked on a man who was making his way toward him. He was tall, mid-twenties, with jet black hair and blue eyes. _Not Sam._ Dean's heart clenched painfully. _Of course not._

The man stopped beside him and knelt down. "Oh God…" he muttered, his blue eyes focused on Dean's injuries and distressed appearance. "You—"

Dean shook his head. "I'm fine." He said in a monotone voice, "Just help me up. I have to find that creep's body and torch it so that this doesn't happen again." He held his hand out and glanced up, meeting the man's gaze.

"That can wait." The man snapped. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine." Dean snapped back, pulling his hand back and using the tombstone to climb shakily to his feet. "You need to leave before that thing comes back." He slowly walked to where his gun had landed and picked it up, ignoring the jolts of pain the simple motion shot up his spine.

"Oh really?" the other man seethed. "And what are you going to do then? Pass out on it? You can barely keep your eyes open, let alone stand and fight."

"_I'm handling it!_" Dean yelled furiously.

The man's gaze softened instantly, and he winced. "Dean…" he muttered.

Dean froze. His entire body tensed and he brought the gun up, pointing the barrel at the stranger. "How do you know my name?" he demanded coldly.

The man raised his hands into the air. "Don't shoot." he paused, staring at Dean's pained stance. "Just _sit down_, you're going to hurt yourself more than you already have—"

"Who the hell are you?!" Dean shouted.

"Dean—"

"Stop saying my name!" he shrieked, the gun shaking wildly in his hands.

"Okay." The man said softly, "Just point the gun somewhere else and I'll explain everything."

"No." Dean said coldly, and cocked the gun instead. "Who are you?"

The man sighed and kept his gaze locked on Dean's. "Dean…it's me." He said. "Sam."

Dean's face contorted into a mask of anger. "You lying son of a _bitch_!" he screamed, the gun shaking in his grip. He took a step forward and stopped, barely able to restrain himself from attacking the man in front of him. "Who the hell sent you?"

"No one sent me." He answered sadly, "It's really me, Dean."

"I'll _kill _you." Dean hissed.

"Dean, listen to me." The man said firmly, and gently tossed his own gun away to prove that he wasn't a threat. "My body was damaged too badly from the bullet wounds, there was nothing anyone could do—"

"Sam's _dead_." Dean interrupted furiously. "He's been dead for _weeks_."

He winced. "I know…"

"Then _who are you_?!" Dean yelled angrily.

"I'm Sam."

"Stop _lying_!"

"You remember how I can possess people?" he explained quickly, "Well, after I was dead for a few days I had an idea, and I searched hospitals for brain-dead comatose patients." He paused, staring intently at Dean. "It worked. I've been in this body for five days now and I haven't had any problems. I've been looking for you—"

Dean laughed. "What? You really expect me to believe that you're _Sam _in the body of some brain-dead guy whose parents just didn't have enough strength to pull the plug? How pathetic do you honestly think I am?"

"Dean…" Sam muttered worriedly, "Can we carry on this conversation later when you're not bleeding everywhere?"

"No!" Dean snapped. "I want the truth—you're _not_ Sam."

Sam's lips turned up slightly as he stared back levelly. "Then why haven't you shot me yet?"

Dean scowled. His finger tightened on the trigger but he couldn't force himself to pull it completely. "Don't think I won't." he threatened darkly.

"Dean, I promise I'm telling the truth. I'm Sam—your pain in the ass little brother. And I could ramble on and on about sentimental times and prank wars and other memories that would convince you that I'm telling the truth—but we don't have time. That ghost is going to come back any second and you're bleeding from a dozen places that I can see. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't even be able to stand if you weren't leaning against that tombstone."

Dean swallowed hard. "I'm fine."

"You're not fooling anyone." Sam said with a small smile. He stepped forward cautiously and took the gun from Dean's unresisting fingers. "Let's go." He said, wrapping his arm around Dean's shoulder to help support him.

Dean frowned and tried to shrug off his arm. "_Get_ _off me!"_ he shouted, grabbing his gun back with a scowl.

"Dean…_please_." Sam begged softly, refusing to relinquish his hold on his badly hurt brother. Dean's attempts to escape his hold were so weak that it was pathetic.

"You're not Sam!" he yelled again, struggling wildly.

"Dude, you sound like a broken record player. Just let me help."

"I don't need anyone's help!" he spat, "I can do this!"

"Do _what_?" Sam demanded, giving him a small shake. "You're killing yourself, Dean!"

Dean laughed wildly. "So what? I don't honestly give a damn—I've got _nothing left._"

"That's not—"

Something slammed into them from behind. Sam received the blunt force of the impact and managed to stand his ground. He hurriedly pushed Dean behind him out of harm's way.

Dean's previous injuries caused the motion to knock him off balance and he fell to the ground, unharmed. He pushed himself up weakly and stared as the ghost advanced toward the man in front of him.

Sam raised his eyes as the ghost descended on him for the second time. Its mouth twisted into a snarl as it reached out with blood stained hands to tear him apart. Dean realized with a jolt that the man protecting him wasn't armed. He tried to bring his own gun up to fire, but his injuries made him too slow.

Sam acted instinctively, flinging his hand up in front of his face—

The ghost shrieked and exploded into a cloud of dust. A second passed and a pillar of fire shot up out of the ground half-way across the cemetery, directly above one grave site. The flames twisted up through the small square of land, disintegrating the dirt, the buried coffin and corpse, and the tombstone in one fell swoop. Then it vanished.

Sam stared wide eyed at the place it had been, and the sudden darkness left dots of light in his vision. There was a long pause. "Well…" he muttered finally, still somewhat shocked. "That's a new one."

"What?" Dean's voice croaked from somewhere to his right.

"Getting rid of a ghost and simultaneously locating and burning its' bones without even meaning to—it's a new one." He paused, considering, "I suppose it'll probably come in handy, though."

There was another pause. "Who are you?" Dean asked, his voice strained.

Sam sighed. "You know who I am." He said quietly.

Dean said nothing.

Sam leaned down and gently grasped his brother around the shoulders and helped him to his feet. "We need to get to the car." He said, "You've lost a lot of blood, but I'm pretty sure I can patch you up without rushing you to a hospital."

He turned to walk toward the car but Dean kept his knees locked, refusing to move. Sam frowned. "Dean…"

Dean sidestepped out of his hold and turned to face him. He stared up, gazing intently at his face—at his eyes—as though searching for something.

Sam frowned and looked worriedly at his brother's pale, bloodstained face. "Dean, we need to go or else you're going to pass out. Please."

Dean didn't move. He stood like that for a long time, staring. He realized that he was shaking, and wondered if it was because of the injuries, lack of sleep, or the sudden recognition. He slowly opened his mouth, almost afraid to say it. "S-sammy?"

Sam's gaze softened instantly, relieved. "Yeah." he said with a small smirk. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

Dean let out the breath he had been holding. He stepped forward shakily and pulled his brother into a hug.

Sam returned it, gripping the back of Dean's jacket tightly. He realized that Dean was leaning heavily on him for support, and his focus instantly snapped back to his brother's injuries. "You look like hell, Dean." He muttered.

Dean snorted. "Thanks."

"No, really." Sam said sternly, pushing Dean back slightly so that he could get a better look. He winced. "Have you slept at all?"

"Some." Dean muttered defensively.

Sam shook his head and didn't comment further. He wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder and helped him hobble slowly toward the car. "Let me know if you're gonna faint." He said offhandedly.

"I don't _faint_." Dean mumbled. "And I'm fine."

Sam glanced at his brother and noticed that his eyes weren't even focused. "Yeah. Right. You look _fantastic_." He slowed down a little, noticing that Dean was having a hard time matching his already shortened stride. "Almost there."

"Yeah." Dean muttered. "That's good."

By the time they finally made it to the car, Dean was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Sam opened the passenger side door of the Impala and helped his brother get inside. He shut the door quietly and walked around to the driver's side. "Dean…" he said.

Dean's eyes cracked open. "Yeah?"

"I need the keys."

Dean's eyes slid shut again. For a moment Sam wondered if he'd gone back to sleep, but after a few moments his lips opened slightly. "Jacket pocket." He mumbled.

Sam fished through Dean's pocket until he found the key. He twisted it in the ignition and the car roared to life.

"Sammy?" Dean muttered softly.

Sam glanced at him. "Yeah Dean?"

Silence.

Sam glanced over, worried, but he relaxed as he soon as he saw the even rise and fall of his brother's chest. He sighed. _Probably the first time he's slept in days…_ He pushed down on the gas pedal and the Impala sped down the deserted road.

**PLEASE REVIEW!! **


	20. Chapter 20

**This is the final chapter! I would like to thank everyone for reading this, especially those of you who review. You guys are awesome! :) Enjoy.**

Dean jerked awake and opened his eyes with a gasp.

Sweat poured down his skin and darkness accosted him from every side. Trying not to panic, he tried to remember where he was—how he had gotten there—but his mind remained stubbornly blank. He swallowed hard and tried to push himself up with his hands—and paused. He was lying on something soft. He ignored the throbbing pain in his body and pushed himself up further. A blanket shifted and slid off his torso.

Dean's breathing calmed slightly as his scattered brain figured it out. He was in a hotel—he was safe. He paused for a moment to wipe away beads of sweat that had accumulated on his brow as he slept. "Damn nightmares…" he groaned, scowling angrily at himself.

He stretched out a shaking hand and reached wildly to the side until his hand hit something protruding from the wall. He reached farther until he found the switch, and flicked it up.

Light flooded the room and Dean squinted against the sudden brightness. His eyes narrowed further as he gazed around himself, taking in the pastel green walls, small television, and the second untouched bed.

He frowned. He couldn't remember checking in to the room…screw that, he didn't have a clue where he was in the first place, let alone how he got there. He sat up further with a small groan and his eyes focused on his open duffel bag lying on the tan carpet—he couldn't remember bringing it inside.

"Must've drunk too much last night…" he groaned, sinking back into bed. "That's it, just drunk…too much…" He frowned, as he rolled the idea around in his head. _But that would mean a hangover…_

He bolted up quickly, realizing that his head was mostly clear. No hangover.

The sudden motion caused the world to lurch wildly. He brought a hand up to his head and his fingers grazed over a couple of stitches. He froze.

_What the hell?!_

Dean stumbled out of bed, cursing as he tripped in his haste to reach the bathroom. He flicked on the light and peered into the mirror. Tired, bewildered eyes stared back at him from the dirty glass. There were four neat stitches right below his hairline, and a butterfly bandage covered another smaller gash near his chin. His other cuts and bruises looked as though they had been cleaned…

He took in a sharp intake of breath and winced, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in his chest. He glanced down—and his confusion increased dramatically. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and strips of material had been wrapped tightly around his chest, as though...

He took another breath and gritted his teeth as a sharp pain caused him to shorten it. _Broken ribs…_

"But..." Dean murmured, completely awake. "I don't remember…" He spun around, searching the hotel room for any clues as to what had happened. The trash can next to the bed was full of gauze and blood. He staggered over to the door and saw that it had been lined with salt…

But that was impossible, because he hadn't been taking _any _precautions like that…not since Sam…

"What the hell is going on?" He muttered, trying to stay calm even as his heart pounded in his chest, "I didn't…I don't…"

He sank down onto the closest bed and shut his eyes, trying to remember. The last thing he remembered was driving his car to the cemetery, and then—

Nothing.

He concentrated harder, trying to push back the pain in his ribs that had increased dramatically now that he was moving around. Flashes of disjointed memory shot through his mind—

Gravestones.

Pain.

Darkness.

A man with blue eyes—

And…anger.

The intense feeling shot through him again, startling him.

So much anger—so much hate—he shook his head, trying to make sense of it. A simple ghost could never have made him that furious, that _hurt_. Especially after Sam died—he hadn't been angry _since _Sam died. He hadn't been…anything…since Sam died. Just numb. Completely numb.

And then he realized something else. The numbness he had held onto so desperately for the past few weeks was gone, leaving an empty ache behind as though someone had chiseled a hole out of his chest.

The memories of Sam's death that he had worked so hard to suppress came flooding back in an instant. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to force the traitorous thoughts away. He blinked furiously and staggered to his feet and over to his bag. He dug through it, desperately searching for his keys.

He needed to get drunk. He needed to get the numbness back.

_Dead—dead—Sam—dead—alone—you—you—you—_

His keys were missing, and no matter how far down he dug he couldn't find them. "_Damn it_!" he shrieked. His voice sounded desperate, shaky, and much higher than it was supposed to. He stopped his search and slumped back against the dresser, exhausted.

He needed to figure this out. Nothing made sense. He forced himself to concentrate—to remember. The man with blue eyes stood out like a beacon of light in his memory.

Who was he?

Dean concentrated, but his recent memories were sluggish and unclear.

"_Dean…can we carry on this conversation later when you're not bleeding everywhere?"_

Dean flinched. His mind flashed with images of concerned eyes, black hair…

"_Then why haven't you shot me yet?"_

"_Do what? You're killing yourself, Dean!"_

"Sam?" Dean whispered, his memory rushing back all at once.

"_You know who I am."_

"Sam." Dean breathed. "Oh God…_Sam_." He remembered now, he remembered everything. The graveyard, the ghost, the fight, the flames, _everything_—

Sam had been there. His brother had been _right there_.

_Sam—_

He stumbled to his feet, the emptiness of the room suddenly suffocating and unbearable. _It wasn't a dream—oh God please don't let it have been a dream—_

"Sammy?!" he called loudly, staring frantically around the vacant room. "Sam??"

No answer.

He staggered over to the door and threw it open. The night air was freezing cold, and snowflakes were falling slowly, blanketing the ground with a soft white.

The Impala was there, parked in front of the room. It was already covered with several inches of snow—it hadn't been moved for a long time. His heart sank.

He was alone.

The sudden flame of hope that had risen inside of him vanished in a cloud of smoke. Sam wasn't there. He never had been—it had all been a dream. A nightmare. He dropped to his knees in the snow, suddenly oblivious and uncaring toward the icy wind as he stared at the parked Impala.

It was hard enough to lose his brother _once_. It was excruciating to lose him twice. To lose him for a _third time_ was just cruel, unbearable—

The air moved softly for a moment. Dean ignored it. He never wanted to move again.

"Dean?!" a horrified voice exclaimed behind him. There was a thud as something was dropped on the ground, and then hands instantly latched onto his bare shoulders. "Oh God, Dean, what are you doing??"

Dean's eyes snapped open. A man was kneeling in front of him—the man with black hair and blue eyes. His mouth dropped slightly. _Sam. Sam is the one with black hair and blue eyes…_

"Dean—it's freezing out here—" Sam was saying, gazing intently at him with unveiled distress, "You don't even have a _shirt _on! You're going to make yourself sicker than you already are!"

Dean tried to open his mouth. To say _something._ But he couldn't seem to get his mind around the fact that Sam was really there. That it hadn't all been a dream.

His speechlessness only added to Sam's anxiety. "God, Dean—I left for _ten minutes_ to get you more meds—_ten minutes_!" he moaned. "Couldn't you have just stayed asleep?"

Dean breathed out shakily. "S-sam?" he managed to murmur shakily. S_o cold…_

"Yeah, it's me." Sam said soothingly, "It's going to be okay." He pulled his brother gently to his feet and helped him back inside the room. Dean felt himself walking, but the whole situation seemed _surreal._ Sam led him to the bed and eased him down onto it.

Dean just stared. After a moment Sam hurriedly threw a blanket over his shoulders in an effort to warm him up.

"You're going to be fine." Sam was saying. "You've been asleep for over a day…but you needed the rest. God, Dean, you.._._" he trailed off and then started again, "You had a really high fever—and that was on top of the complete lack of sleep or food—but I managed to get your temperature down. Of course, that was after I patched up all your injuries and—"

"Sam?"

"—wrapped your ribs. I think you broke at _least _two in that impact with the tombstone—"

"Sam—"

"What have you been _doing_, Dean? You were so bad that I thought I was gonna have to take you to a hospital—"

"SAM!"

Sam paused and looked at Dean. _Really _looked at Dean. His brother was still shaking slightly from the cold, but his eyes were so…lost. So vulnerable. Sam gritted his teeth together, unsure of what to say. "Dean…"

Dean licked his lips nervously but didn't look at him. "Sammy, you…you're really _alive_?"

The words were simple enough—but the emotion behind them was overwhelming. Sam sighed heavily and sank down on the bed beside his brother. "Yes." He said simply.

"And you're not going to…disappear or anything?"

Sam winced. "I'm so sorry Dean, I didn't mean for you to wake up alone. I didn't think you would wake up this soon and I needed to get you more meds—"

"You didn't take the Impala."

Sam shook his head. "I didn't need to…powers, remember? I thought it would be quicker."

Dean was silent for a moment. "I…I thought…"

Sam cringed, realizing what Dean had probably thought when he woke up alone. "I'm here." He said reassuringly. "Really. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean exhaled softly but _still _avoided looking at his brother. "Are you…okay?"

Sam's expression hardened. The question was harmless enough, but he felt a sudden unexplainable surge of anger. "Am _I _okay?" he said, the words coming out slightly harsher than they were meant to.

Dean flinched slightly but kept his eyes down. "Yeah." He muttered. "You…" he trailed off.

Sam shook his head, suddenly furious, and stood up. "I _what, _Dean? I'm not the one that was unconscious for twenty-eight straight hours. I'm not the one who had a fever of 104.5 and hasn't eaten in weeks. I'm not the one who's been playing suicidal games with the entire supernatural playground. Don't ask me if I'm okay, Dean. Don't you _dare_."

Dean blinked and took in a sharp breath of air. "Sammy—you _died_. I couldn't…"

"No Dean. You listen to _me_." Sam said, and his voice softened instantly as he knelt down beside his brother. He sighed heavily. "We can't keep doing this." He said, exhaustion filling his voice. "You…you nearly got yourself killed, Dean. If I hadn't found you when I did…that ghost would have killed you. And it wasn't even a challenge—it was a routine salt and burn."

"I was trying." Dean mumbled.

"That wasn't trying." Sam said bitterly, "That was giving up."

"You were _dead_, Sam." Dean said irritably, "What was I supposed to do? Pretend I was fine? Forget you ever existed? Start hunting with Bobby?" his voice rose with every word, and he finally looked up, his eyes glinting with anger. "Admit it, Sam—you would have done the same things that I had if our positions had been reversed."

"Yes, I _know that_. That's exactly my point!" Sam said tiredly. He stood up and stared down at Dean, taking advantage of the eye contact his brother had finally given him, "We can't keep doing this, Dean. Every time one of us dies, the other just gives up…or…"

Dean grinned bitterly. "Does something stupid?"

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. "Every time, Dean. Every single time."

"Well, maybe if we would both just stop dying all the time that wouldn't be a problem."

Sam shook his head bitterly. "With what we do…" he began, and trailed off. "To be fair, I'd say we have less than five years left. If that."

"And I thought I was the pessimistic one." Dean muttered.

"We're living on borrowed time as it is." Sam countered. "We both should have been dead by now."

"Multiple times each." Dean added wryly.

"Yeah." Sam said, his voice falling further. He sat back down beside his brother on the bed. "One of these days…one of us is going to die. And stay dead."

Dean winced. "You don't think I know that?" he demanded angrily.

"I know you _know it_." Sam continued, "But you always seem to think it'll be you and I always think it'll be me."

"One of us is going to be wrong." Dean said with a shrug.

"Yeah." Sam said softly.

Dean paused. "Well Sammy…what do we do?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't _know_." He said, frustrated.

They sat there in silence for a few moments.

Dean glanced over at his brother, trying to think of something to say. "That's it?" he finally muttered lightly, trying to make himself smile, "After that big speech the best you can come up with is that you don't know?"

Sam shot him a glare. "What—you think _you_ can figure it out? Damn it, Dean—all those evil bastards have to do is kill _one_ of us and—wham—threat eliminated. I'm pretty sure the entire supernatural world knows that by now."

Dean frowned. "Yeah. I know, Sam." he said resignedly. He breathed out, wincing as the motion caused his ribs to throb, "The only solution I can come up with is that we both work harder on not dying."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, cause that's worked _so well_ in the past…be _serious_, Dean."

Dean reached out and gave his brother's shoulder a small squeeze. "Hey." He said comfortingly, "We'll figure it out, Sammy. Besides…with you discovering freaky new powers every day, we have a much better chance at survival. By now, anything remotely dangerous should run away screaming when they see you coming. Who knows…that alone might give us another five or ten years."

Sam smiled softly at Dean's attempt at humor. "Yeah." He muttered, meeting his gaze. "I guess you're right."

"I'm always right." Dean said with a grin. After a moment he frowned and tilted his head to the side, studying Sam's expression.

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

Dean shook his head and released his brother's shoulder. "This is weird."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What is?"

Dean smirked slightly and wordlessly gestured to Sam's appearance.

"Oh." Sam said. "_That_. Yeah."

"_Weird_." Dean repeated with emphasis.

"I know." Sam sighed. "It was the best I could do—this body is about the same age as my other one, and—"

"Looks absolutely _nothing _like you." Dean interjected.

Sam shrugged. "If it's any consolation I'm still taller than you."

Dean scowled. "That's...not fair. I'm _older_."

"I'm pretty sure age doesn't determine height."

"It _should_." Dean muttered, still studying him. "And anyway—black hair and blue eyes? Really?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Of course it's a problem, Sammy!" Dean shot back teasingly. "You do know what this means, don't you?"

Sam's eyes narrowed in confusion. "…no?"

"We look _nothing alike_ now."

"So what?" Sam asked. He thought for a moment. "Oh." He said, realizing what Dean was saying. "_Damn it_…"

Dean laughed. "Sorry Sammy…people thought you were gay before, imagine what they're gonna think _now_. They'll _never_ believe we're brothers."

Sam glared at him, but there was a small smile on his face. "Jerk." He mumbled, grinning.

Dean's breath hitched.

Sam's smile vanished instantly. "What is it? Are you alright?"

Dean nodded weakly. _God, Sammy…I missed you so much. _"Yeah." He said instead, "I guess I'm just tired."

Sam nodded authoritatively. "Okay—back to bed."

Dean shot him an incredulous look. "What am I—_four_?"

Sam smiled. "Sometimes I wonder…"

Dean reached out weakly and hit him. "You better watch out, Sammy."

Sam's smile widened. "I'm _terrified_." He said mockingly. He stood up and helped Dean back into the other bed.

Dean leaned into his brother, grateful for the help.

Sam left him alone and walked into the bathroom for a moment. He returned with a paper cup of water and some pills. "Here." he said, handing them to Dean, "These will help with the pain."

Dean glanced at Sam for a moment and then swallowed the pills and the water in one gulp. "Okay _Mom_." He said teasingly, sitting the empty cup on the bedside table. "Anything else?"

"Shut-up." Sam said, shaking his head exasperatedly. "Go to sleep before you _faint_ again." He paused, grinning, "Oh wait, you don't faint, do you? Only girls faint—_you_ pass out."

Dean smirked. "Damn straight."

Sam's grin softened. "I'll be here when you wake up." He promised.

Dean shut his eyes, hiding his relief. "You better be." He mumbled. "No more scandalous late night outings, Sammy."

"I went to get you more _meds_." Sam said defensively. "I was only gone for ten minutes."

"Whatever you say." Dean taunted.

Sam laughed. "Go to sleep, Dean."

"Okay." Dean muttered sleepily as whatever drug Sam had given him began taking affect. "Night Sammy."

Sam smiled.

**The End. **

**Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this story. Please REVIEW and let me know your thoughts. **

**Michelle Knight**


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